The Last Bite is the Deepest
by jane0904
Summary: Set towards the end of Season One, Rick and Kate investigate the death of a young man who has died in very odd circumstances, and it takes them into the strange underbelly of New York ... Please read, enjoy and review! NOW COMPLETE but there may be more.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, it's unusual."

Esposito glanced at Ryan, a very slight smile on his face. "Unusual? Is that the only word you can think of to describe this?"

"No. Gruesome springs to mind. Creepy is another one."

"How about freaky?"

"Oh, yes, that one's for sure."

"You two ghouls like to go and wait someplace else?" Lanie Parish asked, looking up from her work.

"No, no, we're fine right here," Ryan said, juggling two hot cups of coffee and trying not to burn his fingers.

"That wasn't a suggestion." She pulled the liver temp thermometer from the body and studied it. "Find someone else to lean over."

Esposito jerked his head at his partner, and they both pushed their way back through the sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling towards the open roll-top shutter. As they reached the fresh air, a car drew up, disgorging Kate Beckett and Rick Castle.

Ryan smiled. "Couldn't ditch him, huh?"

"He's like the stray dog who follows you home," Kate agreed, taking one of the cardboard cups of coffee from her colleague's hand.

"Want I should take him to the pound for you?"

Kate's face brightened considerably. "Now that's an idea."

Rick looked hurt for only a moment, then laughed. "Nah, I'd get sprung."

"Unfortunately, that's probably true." She sighed theatrically then looked up at the building in front of her, its faintly gothic architecture in the process of being cleaned and renovated. "So what have we got?"

Esposito glanced at Ryan, then said, "This is one I think it's better you see for yourself."

"Words don't really do it justice," his partner added.

"Fine. Lead the way."

They walked back inside.

"What's with all the plastic?" Rick asked, feeling it brushing against his skin and pushing it away quickly. It felt cold and clammy to the touch.

"It's one of the original buildings in the area," Ryan explained, glancing back over his shoulder and indicating the wrought iron columns just visible through the gloom. "Give it a few months and you'll be the only one able to afford a place here."

"Apartments?"

"Fully stocked. Supposed to have individual gyms, full security, the works."

"Sounds interesting."

"Yeah," Esposito put in. "The workmen come in this morning to carry on, and find … this." He pushed the curtain of sheeting to one side and stood back, as if raising the tabs on a stage. Indeed, the light shafting down from an opening high in the wall of the building was like a follow-spot, illuminating an area of the floor.

Rick stared. "That's … disturbing."

"You know, I think that's even better than creepy," Ryan said, and Esposito nodded.

Kate moved closer, nodding at Lanie. "Hey."

The Medical Examiner smiled at her friend. "Hi."

"Is this how he was found?"

Lanie stood up. "Pretty much. I gather the man who made the discovery kicked the jar over, but other than that, I don't think he touched anything, not after he threw up on the way out."

"I can't say I'm surprised." She gazed at the body.

In the centre of the pool of light was a young man lying on a medical gurney, his eyes closed, his face exceptionally pale but peaceful. He wore the usual uniform of a certain kind of youth – athletic shoes, jeans, and a button-down short-sleeved black shirt, and he looked like he was asleep. Or at least he would have, if it hadn't been for the two-foot long tube running from his neck. Traces of blood remained inside it, but there was more in a large puddle on the floor, next to a broken glass jar. Another four jars were lined up underneath the body, each filled with a viscous red liquid, already clotting.

Lanie sighed. "I am constantly surprised at the inventive ways we humans find to kill each other."

Kate's hand hovered over but didn't touch the tube. "A needle?"

Lanie nodded. "Probably a wide gauge. Straight into the jugular."

"Is he … drained?" It sounded such an odd question even in her mind that she almost didn't ask it.

"Looks like it. I'll know more when I get him on my table, but either he was injected with an anticoagulant, or something else was attached to the other end of the tube."

"A pump?" Rick asked.

"Probably. And from the way the blood's beginning to separate in the jars, I'd say that was the most likely option."

"Someone really didn't want him to wake up."

"Got that right."

"Was he dead before … this?" Kate indicated everything.

"Honestly, I'd like to say yes, but I don't think so." Lanie touched the young man's neck with delicate fingers. "If the heart was pumping, it would make it easier, otherwise you'd probably have to flush out the rest of it with something or other, and I don't see any sign of that."

"Then why not just cut his throat?" Kate asked. "Or stab him, or … anything else."

"Honey, that's your province, not mine."

"What about time of death?"

"Well, liver temp's 92, it was cool last night … I'd say around midnight. And before you ask, lividity - what there is of it - is set. He died here."

"I wasn't going to ask." She indicated the jars full of blood. "I can't see a murderer carting all this around."

"Me neither." Lanie signalled her boys. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out anything else."

"Thanks."

Kate moved away from the body, and Rick understood it was a sign of respect. Even he didn't feel like saying anything remotely tasteless.

"Did the CSU get anything?" she asked, lowering her voice for the same reason.

Esposito shook his head. "Whoever it was wore gloves, probably latex, and this whole floor area's been scuffed up. They can't even tell for sure yet which footprints were made by the vic, or even if he was carried."

"Keep them looking."

"Will do, boss." He walked back to where the forensics personnel were still brushing red powder over everything.

Kate turned to Ryan. "What about ID?"

"Nothing as yet. Pockets are empty, and his clothes look like any other kid around."

"Any kid with money. Or parents who indulge him," Rick added.

Kate looked sharply at him. "Why do you say that?"

"His sneakers. They're custom, and cost around seven hundred and fifty bucks."

Taking a moment to digest this somewhat surprising news, Kate asked, "And you know this … how?"

"Alexis wanted a pair, black with pink stripes."

"And I suppose you bought them."

"No." Rick smiled. "I was going to, but she slept on it, then came down the next morning and asked for the money to go to charity."

Ryan grinned. "That's one special girl you've got there."

"I know." He could feel his chest puffing up with pride. "She's a credit to her old man."

"So he's not poor," Kate said, attempting to bring the conversation back on line. "The dead boy. Unless he stole them."

"It's possible," Ryan said, seeing another officer trying to catch his attention. He hurried away.

Rick shook his head. "I think they're his. Like I said, these shoes are custom, so to be lucky enough to happen to steal a pair that fit like a glove? Unlikely."

"Maybe they hurt. Maybe he got fallen arches from them." Kate glared at him. "Unfortunately he's dead so we can't ask him."

"Do you want to bet on that?"

"No."

Rick grinned.

"Oh, shut up." Kate turned to watch Lanie and her colleagues place the young man reverently into a black body bag.

"Did you ever see _Flatliners_?" Rick asked after a moment, not waiting for a response. "Keifer Sutherland, Julia Roberts in the days when she actually got out of bed for less than twenty mill, the Baldwin brother I can never remember the name of –"

"William."

He stared at her. "I always knew you were a closet movie freak."

"No."

There was more, he could tell. "But? I feel a 'but' hanging in there." He leaned closer. "Come on. For Nikki Heat's sake."

She glared but he didn't move away. Fine. Maybe a titbit, just to keep him happy. "_But_ I did have a thing for Keifer Sutherland once."

"Really?" He looked very interested. "What kind of a thing? A purely cerebral appreciation of his acting skills? Or was it something more panty-twisting? I'm guessing the latter."

"Castle, I was about twelve."

"So? When Alexis was that age, you should have seen some of the girls she was going to school with." His hands indicated shape, and size, then realised what he was doing and thrust them into his pockets.

"Should I be worried about you?"

He was shocked, or at least managed to appear that way. "No. I'm not that way inclined."

Kate hid the smile that threatened. If nothing else, she knew Richard Castle wasn't a paedophile, nowhere near it. "Anyway, I watched the video until I wore out the tape."

"And you've got a good memory."

"Exactly. Anyway, what about it?"

"Mmn?"

"You asked if I'd seen _Flatliners_. Why?"

"Oh. Just … doesn't this remind you of the set they used?" He looked around at the workbenches, plastic sheeting obscuring their view on all four sides.

"I think you mean _The Lost Boys_," Ryan said, sliding back into view.

The partners turned to look at him.

"What are you talking about?" Kate asked.

"Uniforms found a wallet, tossed in a trash bin half a block away." He held out a plastic evidence bag, a multi-coloured nylon billfold, driver's licence and other bits and pieces loose inside. "ID, but no cash, no credit cards."

"I doubt this was a robbery." Kate read the licence. "Keith Niedermann. East 79th Street."

"Money," Rick murmured, but loud enough for her to hear.

She ignored him. "According to this he's twenty-eight."

Ryan chuckled faintly. "I doubt it."

"Fake?"

"There's been a rash of good ones lately – this looks very similar."

"Check out the details."

"On it."

Rick stopped Ryan from leaving, a hand on his arm. "Why _The Lost Boys_? You said this was more like _The Lost Boys._ Why?"

Ryan moved the plastic around until a card was visible, all matt black with shiny gold lettering. "It seems Keith was a member of the _Polidori's_."

"Damn," Kate breathed.

Rick's gaze when from one to the other. "Sorry, I don't get it. What's the _Polidori's_?"

Kate didn't answer, just turned back to stare as the mortal remains of Keith Niedermann were wheeled away, her face an unreadable mask.

Rick looked expectantly at Ryan.

"It's a place on 38th, in the old garment district. A short term tenancy in one of the empty shops," the detective clarified. "A lot of young people hang out there, mostly wealthy, disillusioned, lonely." He shrugged. "We've had one or two calls about it, pretty much all complaints about possible drug use."

"And last year there was the little matter of one of their members turning up dead in the parking lot," Kate finished, not looking at either of them.

"Murder?" Rick asked.

"Raped and strangled. We got him, though." There was satisfaction in her voice, a job well done.

"Well, I've not heard of it," Rick admitted.

"I'm surprised." Kate finally turned back. "I'd have thought it was just the kind of place you'd know about."

"Why would I?"

"Very literary," she explained. "Everyone who goes there wants to be a vampire."

Rick's eyebrows threatened to migrate into his hair. "A … you're kidding."

"No."

"But vampires … Kate, tell me you're not thinking someone … someone drank this boy's blood?" He couldn't stop the faint expression of revulsion crossing his face.

"That will be up to Lanie to tell us, after she's measured what's left, but no, I don't think so."

"But you think it's … they're involved."

"A young man dies and his blood drained, _and_ he's a member of _Polidori's_? I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask." She went to walk away but he restrained her.

"Wait a minute …" He was thinking, trying to pin down the memory lurking just in the back of his brain. Yes, that was it. "Of course. John Polidori."

"Who's he?" Ryan asked, notebook at the ready. "A person of interest?"

"If you're into bloodsucking, probably. But not the way you mean." Rick looked from one to the other. "John Polidori is credited with introducing vampires to the world in his book _The Vampyre_. Spelled with a 'y'."

"Not Bram Stoker?" Kate asked, interested despite herself.

"He made it a phenomenon, but Polidori got there first. Early 19th century, if I recall."

"Don't tell me … Derrick Storm was going to come up against a nest of vampires."

He dropped his head and looked at her. "I don't just do research for my books, Kate. I do like to read other stuff."

"And there I was thinking you'd got all this from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_."

"Never seen it," he avowed.

"Hmmn."

"No, honestly. Alexis might have watched it once or twice, but I wasn't taking any notice." He started to squirm a little under her unblinking gaze. "Besides, Gina said it was too far fetched."

The thought of Rick's ex-wife was enough to make her smile. "And you really didn't know about the club."

Rick grinned. "I don't know everything."

"That's not what you usually say."

"Kate, that hurts."

"I'd have thought you'd be used to that by now," Ryan put in.

"True," Rick admitted. "The trouble is, I'm getting to like the pain."

"If it's pain you want …" Kate reached up towards his nose.

He back away hurriedly. "Not that much."

"Didn't think so." She glanced at Ryan. "Keep a lid on this if you can, otherwise all the crazies will be out in force. And find out if Neidermann has any relatives."

"Yes, boss."

Kate pushed through the plastic sheeting towards the daylight, then paused, her outline blurred, softened. "Well? Are you coming?" she asked.

Rick glanced at Ryan, but he shook his head. _Not me,_ he was saying.

"Where to?" Rick asked out loud.

"_Polidori's_."

He grinned and ran after her.


	2. Chapter 2

People used to say the garment district of New York was the heart of the city. At one point thousands of workers were based in the square mile bounded by Fifth and Ninth Avenues from 34th to 42nd Street, and it was the centre for fashion and manufacturing for the entire United States. A lot of businesses were still hanging on, even with the recession biting, and everything from lace to buttons to fabric to made-up clothes were available, and street-sellers could supply knock-off anything, but too many of the showrooms were closed and boarded up.

"I wonder what it was like in its heyday," Rick said as Kate pulled the car to a stop, putting it in _park_ and turning off the engine.

"The same. Just more so."

"Don't you ever wonder?" He climbed out of the car and leaned on the top, gazing at her. "Don't you just yearn to see it how it was? Imagine the voices, the noises, the smells ..."

She sniffed, and her nose wrinkled. "I don't have to imagine."

"You have no romance in your soul, Kate."

"Yes, I do, as it happens. But not while I'm working."

"Ah, but all work and no play …"

"Makes Kate a very happy detective."

"As long as you don't come after me with an axe." He slammed his car door.

"Don't think I haven't been tempted."

He grinned and followed her along the street. Just ahead of them, over the intersection, was a fenced off empty lot, while the building at the end of the row had no windows on the side facing them but advertised in yellowing, peeling white paint _Kowalski's Fine Lingerie_.

"Is that it?" Rick asked. "The parking lot?"

"Mmn." Kate pointed to the far corner where the detritus of many months was collected. "She was found over there. I still remember her face."

"You remember the faces of all the victims, don't you?"

She glanced at him, but he wasn't being facetious. There was an odd look of caring in his eyes. "Yes. I do," she admitted quietly.

"It's what makes you such an amazing policewoman. Person. Policeperson."

"Just Detective."

"Oh, no. Never _just_ Detective."

She had to smile, just a little. "Come on."

They crossed the intersection.

"I guess they don't use it for parking any more," Rick commented, looking at the fencing, odd bits of greenery growing from the base of the posts.

"No. It's not owned by the same agents as the club, so after the police tape got taken down, that was put up. They thought it would deter people."

"Did it work?"

"No. Not unless used condoms can breed." She indicated gaps where the metal had been forced apart. "If people want to get into a place, it takes a lot more than cheap chainlink to keep them out."

"Hey, at least they're practicing safe sex."

"Around here, safe sex is no sex at all."

They'd reached the front of the club. The name of the previous tenants had been obliterated a long time since, and the front window was blacked out, at least on the inside. Someone had taken care, though, to write _The House of Polidori _in gold cursive lettering on the glass.

"Very appealing," Rick said, following her inside into a small lobby, with a door at the end of a short corridor next to a staircase.

"Up here," Kate said, heading up the stairs.

"Up? Not down?" He hurried after her. "Somehow I imagined dank basements and cellars."

"You'll see."

A man with a bald head, his scalp polished to a high degree, stood outside a studded black leather door, and he held up his hand. "Members only," he said, indicating the sign on the wall.

Kate flashed her badge. "NYPD. I want to talk to the owner."

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Do I need one? Because I'm quite happy to wait for a whole van load of uniformed officers, who'll go through this place with a fine tooth comb."

The man thought for a moment, then stood to one side. "Welcome to _Polidori's_." He pushed the door open.

"Thanks." Kate led the way inside, and for a moment had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

"Ah," she heard Rick say behind her.

"Exactly."

The large room was coloured black, from walls to ceiling to floors, as were the drapes hanging from every vertical surface. The noirish theme was continued in the black swagged sofas along the edges and scattered throughout the space, with the only colour coming from the low tables painted blood red. Hidden lighting threw long shadows, and created ominous corners. All in all it was dark, glowering, and thoroughly depressing.

"Makes you long for a hint of green or yellow, doesn't it?" Rick said in a low aside.

"Orange."

He glanced at her. "Really?"

"Yes."

He made a mental note to add to Nikki Heat's file, and continued to study the deliberately sinister surroundings, observing with just a hint of appreciation that the club might have been above street level, but great care had been taken to make it look otherwise. The windows had been filled in until not a glimmer of daylight could slip through.

"You think they're worried about crumbling to dust?" Rick asked, nodding towards them.

"I thought you never watched _Buffy_?"

"Maybe one or two episodes." He shuddered slightly. "And they're just creepy."

The denizens were watching them.

Some twenty men and women, although by rights they should be called boys and girls, since most of them looked barely out of their teens, if that. Lots of black again, some purple, and virginal white, it was almost like looking at a monochrome picture, or an old horror film.

There were more young men with flowing locks than he had expected, but that was probably the influence of _Twilight_ rather than anything more rebellious. One or two were bleached blonds wearing long black leather coats, but the rest were traditional, widow's peaks, capes and all.

"Why am I itching for a stake?" Rick murmured.

"Medium or well done?"

He looked at her, impressed. "Kate. You made a funny."

"Purely unintentionally."

"No, now, come on. Admit it. You meant it."

She silenced him with a glare as a young woman with long blonde hair touching her waist approached them. An almost androgynous figure barely disguised by the bias-cut full length white satin dress she wore, she was thin to the point of emaciation, made more so by make-up that took any natural colour away apart from blood red lips. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice faintly accented.

"I'd like to speak to the owner," Kate said.

"You the cops?"

Kate nodded, showing her badge again. "Detective Beckett, NYPD."

"You want Oslo. I'll find him for you. Wait here." She wafted away, soon lost in the gloom.

"I still want one of those," Rick whispered in a low aside.

"One what?" Kate asked abstractedly, watching the young people staring at her as if she was a piece of meat. She could almost hear them smacking their lips.

"A badge."

"Don't even think about asking."

"Just a small one. Maybe I should ask the Mayor. You know, just so I can prove –" He had to stop on account of wincing with pain.

Kate lifted her heel from his toe as the girl came back.

"Oslo's just coming," she said, having picked up a drink on the way past, the red liquid moving slowly in the glass. "He's finishing a telephone call."

"Is that what I think it is?" Rick asked, hoping the ache would die down so he wasn't hobbling when he tried to walk.

She held it up so the light could glisten from its surface. "What did you think it was?"

"Oh, not sure. Blood, maybe?"

The girl laughed, but it was a hard, brittle sound. "Not blood. Not in public. Just red wine."

He swallowed, hoping it wasn't noticeable. "Looks … thicker than it should be."

"Added vitamins." She sipped it, her tongue darting out to touch her lips, her eyes half-closing with pleasure.

"How old are you?" Kate had to ask.

The young woman lifted her chin, defiance in every line of her face. "Twenty two. Want to see my driver's licence?"

"If it's as fake as the one Keith Neidermann had on him, not particularly. But I suggest you get rid of it before someone else does."

"Keith? Has he been arrested?"

"No."

"Then he is trouble?"

Kate smiled. "Thank you for your help, Miss …?"

"Kazia. Kazimiera Bozena Bazyli." The words rolled off from her mouth, her accent stronger than before.

"Polish?"

The girl looked surprised. "Yes."

"Thanks again."

Kazia backed away, her face puzzled, and went to sit next to a young man on one of the couches, who, from his marked resemblance, was obviously her brother. They spoke, and he looked up sharply.

"How old do you think she really is?" Rick whispered.

Kate shrugged. "In that get-up? She might be as young as fourteen."

Rick shook his head. "I can understand girls wanting to dress up … I mean, when Alexis was eight she went through a whole phase of not wearing anything except pyjamas."

"Even to school?"

"Well, by that time they were designer pyjamas I'd had made specially, and they didn't have rabbits on them, but …"

"Still pyjamas."

"Mmn."

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"Did it take for her to grow out of it?"

"About a month and a half. Until my mother took her shopping in Saks with my credit card. Then it was all costume jewellery and fake furs."

"Not real ones."

"Oh, no. Alexis has always had that part of her feet firmly on the conservationist floor."

"Still, better than pyjamas."

"Oh, way better. And she grew out of that too."

"Except some little girls don't seem to grow out of it at all."

"Or boys," Rick added, watching a young man pass them, his face painted white, black eyeliner expertly applied. "Didn't you have any fads when you were young?"

"I wanted to be a ballerina," Kate admitted, then wished she had thought before she'd spoken.

"Really?" He put his head onto one side and studied her. "You know, I can imagine you in a tutu. Maybe a wand and a tiara. All sparkly. I bet you looked so cute."

"I didn't."

"So you had one?" He grinned delightedly. "Pink?"

"As it happens," she ground out.

"Are there photos?"

She moved enough so they were face to face. "If there are, do you think there's enough money in the world to pay me to let you see them?"

"How about if I just ask nicely?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Should I come back later?" someone asked, laughter bubbling beneath the surface.

Kate and Rick turned. The amused voice belonged to a man in his thirties, black hair brushed straight back from a long, narrow face, accentuated by a dark, neatly trimmed goatee. About Rick's height, he wore black slacks and a v-neck pullover.

"Are you the manager?" Kate asked, thankful her training could slip her back into hard-boiled cop mode with only the barest hint of colour on her cheeks.

"I'm the owner."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Derek Jackson?"

"Please. It's Oslo. Derek was my former name. I always hated it."

"Really?" Rick looked surprised. "Always sort of like it myself."

"That's because you spell it like an oil rig," Oslo said unexpectedly. "I know who you are, Mr Castle. Your books are very popular among my clientele." He indicated the young people lounging around, watching them. "Something about all the blood, I imagine. Master of the macabre. Quite a number of them were incensed when you killed off Derrick Storm. Not that I minded. He was getting boring." He smiled slightly. "And of course I changed my name. _My_ parents were far less imaginative."

"So you called yourself after a city in Norway?" Rick asked, feeling just a trifle wounded at the description of his character as boring, entirely forgetting, of course, the very reason he'd killed him off in the first place.

"The _capital_ of Norway."

Despite the heat from the glare he knew Kate was giving him, Rick was loathe to let it go. "It still seems an odd choice."

"Why? There's Paris Hilton, Dakota Fanning, Jack London …"

"That last doesn't really count, but I get your point."

"And I'm an adult. I can be who I choose."

"True. You know, I remember a guy I went to school with called Oklahoma Monroe." Rick shook his head. "He hated us."

"You teased him?" Oslo asked.

"Mercilessly." Rick looked slightly ashamed.

"I blame the parents. At least _I _decided to call myself Oslo, but have you seen some of the names celebrities give their children nowadays? It's surprising more of them aren't in therapy."

"Well," Rick said, leaning forwards, "I could tell you a few things about –"

Kat coughed, rather loudly. "If you don't mind. We are here on official police business."

"Really?" Oslo looked from Rick to Kate and back again. "Are you a police officer now?"

"He's consulting," Kate said quickly. She showed him her badge. "Is there someplace we can go and talk privately?"

"If you wish. My office is just back here." He led the way through the club, past the bar with its suspicious-looking bottles ranged on the wall behind (no mirror, of course – no self-respecting vampire would want to be reminded it didn't have a reflection) and through a black painted door that blended in almost too well with the wall.

Inside the office was the total opposite. Light, airy, sunlight angling through tall windows. And functional, with two desks, cabinets, and a very modern, very expensive thin-screen laptop.

"Please, sit." Oslo walked behind the larger of the desks, lowering himself into a leather swivel chair.

Kate sat in the only other seat, Rick content to lounge against the wall.

"You weren't around last year, when we tried to interview you about that girl who was killed," she said. "Europe, I believe."

Oslo shrugged. "I like to travel. And no, I wasn't. Not that it had anything to do with the club."

"Not directly."

"She was a member. That was all." He leaned back in his chair. "And the man who killed her wasn't."

"I'm surprised you're still open," Kate went on. "I would have thought this sort of club would be popular for a while, but tastes change. Young people grow up."

"Yes, they do. But there are always more young people, and loneliness is contagious." He tapped the filing cabinet behind him. "My membership list has doubled in the last six months, did you know that?"

"No."

"The recession, people feeling pressured … children are often the first victims, and they need somewhere to go."

"To pretend to be vampires," Rick put in.

Oslo smiled. "To be with others like them, who understand." He leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the desk. "Do you know what they see in vampirism? What they honestly want? Immortality. To be young forever, to never decay, to outlive all those petty problems of the now."

"Everyone grows up," Kate pointed out. "It's the human condition."

"And they hate it."

"So you let them pretend for a while," Rick said, understanding all about illusion.

"Yes. They come here, they sit and talk, and for just a little while they're above it all, superhuman, if you will."

"And you charge them for it," Kate said.

Oslo chuckled. "It is a business, Detective." He clasped his hands lightly. "Now, I presume you weren't here for a discussion on the merits of lifestyle choices."

"No." Kate gazed at him. "We've found a body, Mr Jackson. At the moment there's been no formal ID, but –"

"Are you saying he's a member?"

"I didn't say it was a 'he' at all."

"It was 50-50, Detective. But is he?"

Kate nodded slowly. "He had a membership card on him, yes."

Oslo looked almost distressed. "They're like a family. The young people out there. They'll be devastated. Can you … can you tell me who it was?"

"No. As I said, we've had no formal ID yet."

"No. I see." He took a breath. "Then I don't see how I can be of assistance."

"Have you had any trouble in the past week or so? Fights? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Oslo thought for a moment. "No. Not really."

"That doesn't sound like a 'no' to me."

Oslo shrugged again. "There are always troublemakers. Usually on a Saturday night, after the other clubs have thrown them out, they come around here. They like to shout, break things … I've had the front window replaced twice in the last month, but do the police ever do anything? No."

"Anything worse than shouting?"

"You mean threatening behaviour?" He gazed at her, then reached down to open the bottom drawer of the desk. "I've had these arrive, off and on, for the last year or so." He took out a handful of sheets of paper which he laid flat.

Kate didn't touch them, using her pen to move one of them so she could read the printing more clearly. Block capitals, using what looked like a wide blue marker.

_HEAVEN WILL HAVE ITS REVENGE ON YOU. BLASPHEMER._

The others were along the same lines, some more obscene, but all in the same stark capitals.

"Why did you keep them?" Rick asked, reading over Kate's shoulder.

"Amusement value, more than anything." He smiled at the expressions on their faces. "Whoever wrote these … if it makes them happy, why not? Who am I to stand in their way? So far we haven't all suddenly dropped into the nether reaches of hell, and I don't think we're likely to."

"I need to take them," Kate said, getting an evidence bag out of her pocket. She slid them expertly inside, doing up the seal.

"Please, go ahead. I'm sure there'll be more." He looked up at Rick. "You noticed, of course, the correct grammar."

Rick nodded. "The proper use of 'its'." He half-smiled. "And they spelled 'blasphemer' right, too. Someone educated."

"To say the least."

"You're not worried about them?" Kate asked. "The writers, not the grammar."

"Not in the slightest." Oslo sat back again, making the leather creak slightly. "Detective, I go to church every Sunday. I'm down on my knees like the good little Catholic I am, praying for my eternal soul. But business is business."

"Hmmn." Kate watched him, seeing if the silence would make him say something to fill it, something he shouldn't. But he just sat quietly, elbows on the arms of his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chin, and reminding her of a picture of an aesthetic monk she'd seen once. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell us about?" she asked finally.

"Not unless you'd like to enlighten me as to the nature of the crime. I'm presuming there is a crime. Whoever has died, I doubt very much it was under natural conditions, not from the way you're here."

Kate didn't want to give anything away. "Let's just say it was … bizarre."

"Did blood come into it?"

Now she sat up. "Mr Jackson –"

"Please. Oslo."

"Why would you say that?"

He smiled. "A death. And you come here, to a club for neovampires. I'd say blood had to be a part of it. So either he was staked through the heart, or … perhaps he was bitten, and his blood sucked dry."

There was silence in the room for a moment, then Kate asked, "Mr Jackson, where were you last night?" It couldn't really be as easy as this.

"Well, up until midnight I was here. Then I went home."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate that?"

"Here, yes. I was outside, with my clientele. They like to see me. I'm something of a father confessor to them. Then afterwards … you can always ask my partner."

"Who's she?"

Oslo smiled. "He, actually. He was waiting for me when I got home, with a hot bath and a cold scotch. You can understand I'd rather not give you his name, unless I have to. He's rather well known."

"I do understand, but I'm afraid you have to." Kate slid her notepad across.

Oslo sighed. "Very well." He picked up an ink pen and wrote for a moment before handing it back.

Kate glanced at the name, and her eyebrows lifted just a millimetre. Oslo was right. He _was_ well known. "Thank you."

"No problem." He looked at her. "And since you're obviously not going to tell me anything more, I shall merely ask if there's anything else you need, before you go."

"Just one thing. I'd like a copy of your membership list."

"Checking us out for mass murderers and serial killers?"

"Something like that."

"Then produce your warrant, and you shall have it."

Kate stood up. "Someone will be around later today."

"Fine." He got to his feet, holding out a hand. "You know, you should stay, find out exactly what we do here. We have a lot of people who've lost someone close."

She didn't move, didn't ask how he knew that, but instead said, "Yes. Perhaps we should. Have a word with some of your regulars."

"Except I won't allow you to interview them. Not on my premises."

Kate smiled, but it was cool enough to form ice crystals in the air. "Then another time."

"Of course." He added quickly, seeing Rick about to open the door, "And I'd rather you went out the other way. I don't want you disturbing the members." He crossed to the other corner of the room, opening a second door. It led directly to stairs going down. "If you don't mind."

"Of course." Kate nodded. "Mr Jackson."

"Detective."

She started down the stairs, hearing Rick behind her. The light was cut off as the door closed, but there was a faint glimmer at the bottom.

"Is he trying to get us to break our necks?" Rick complained.

"I wouldn't worry, if I were you," Kate said, reaching the outer door. "You signed your life away, remember?"

"About that. My lawyer had a few things to say."

She stepped out into the daylight. "I bet he did," she said, smirking a little. Checking the street, she could see they'd come out a little way along the block, and had to pass _Polidori's_ to get back to the car. She started to walk.

"Did you know he's threatening to stop representing me?"

"No."

"Yes. Said I'm too reckless."

"Where did he get that idea from?"

"That I don't think before I do things."

She tutted. "That's terrible."

"And the truth is, I _do_ think."

"And then you do them anyway."

"Well, yes …" He stopped outside the club and stared up at the dark windows, blank and yet hooded. "You know, I'm not sure if Oslo's crazy or if it's me."

"You, definitely," Kate called, reaching the intersection.

Rick hurried to catch up. "So who's he shacking up with?" Kate held her notepad over her shoulder so he could read. He whistled. "Really? I had no idea he was gay."

"I'm surprised. You seem to know everyone else in this city."

"Not everyone." They reached the car, and he paused, looked back. "I feel sorry for the kids who go there."

She walked around to the driver's side. "Me too."

"To feel like that's the only place you belong." He shook his head. "What must their homes be like?"

"Honestly, Castle? I think we'll be finding out." She got in.

"But what, exactly, did we get out of going there?" Rick asked, sliding into the passenger seat. "Apart from the need to shower."

"These, for a start," Kate said, putting the evidence bag with the anonymous letters in on the back seat.

"You really think someone killed Keith Neidermann because of the club?" He wasn't scoffing. Not quite.

"No. But I feel it, in here." She touched her chest. "The club's involved somehow."

"How much of that is because of the death of the girl?"

She didn't answer, just turned the key to start the engine. And switched it off again immediately as her cellphone buzzed, tugging it from her pocket.

"Beckett."

"Boss." It was Ryan.

She flicked it onto speaker. "What is it?"

"Message from the Captain. He wants you to meet him over on East 79th."

"The Neidermann house?" Kate glanced up at Rick.

"He's on his way there now."

"Why is he –"

"He saw the photos I was putting up on the murder wall," Ryan said quickly. "He stood staring at them for five minutes, then left. He told me to call you."

"Damn."

"What is it?" Rick asked.

"I'd forgotten," Kate said.

"What? Kate, what is it?" Rick prompted.

"I knew the name Neidermann rang a bell," she said quietly, almost to herself, then louder, into the phone, "Is it the same?"

Ryan was probably nodding. "Yes, boss. I did some checking. The girl who was killed last year, outside _Polidori's_, Keith Neidermann was interviewed several times during the investigation. She was his girlfriend."

Her mind ran back through the last couple of hours, to the young man on the gurney, so thin, so pale. "But her boyfriend was … bigger. More muscular. That's why we liked him for the murder."

"I know. I didn't recognise him either. But it's him all right."

"I thought you said you caught the guy," Rick put in.

"We did," Kate confirmed. "He confessed, too."

"Then why did you think Keith did it?"

"The girl …" She reached for the name, stared out of the car in case she could read it etched into the air, but it eluded her.

"Elizabeth Rossi," Ryan supplied.

Kate nodded, annoyed with herself for forgetting. "Yes. Thanks." She glanced at Rick. "Liz Rossi was a member of _Polidori's_ but her boyfriend wasn't. At the time we thought he was trying to get her away from there, and maybe it went too far, she struggled …"

"You said she was raped."

"Yes. That's what we kept coming up against too. Everyone said they were a close couple, that he never tried to stop her going to the club, was supportive, all of that. So we kept digging, came up with a teacher who …" She stopped, marshalled her thoughts a moment. "It took a while, but we built a solid case against him." She shook her head. "Perhaps Liz's death hit Keith more than anyone understood."

"So he joined _Polidori's _to remember her?" Rick didn't look convinced.

"Maybe." Kate looked at him. "But that's not the point."

"What is?"

"The Captain," Kate said softly. "He and Keith Neidermann's father were … _are_ friends."

"You're kidding."

"I'm sorry to say I'm not."

Ryan broke in. "He's gone to tell Neidermann himself."

She handed the phone to Rick, switching the car's engine on and immediately pulling away from the sidewalk. "Do you think he'll wait for us?" she asked.

"No." Ryan sounded unhappy. "I don't think so."

"No," Kate repeated. "Me neither." She put her foot down on the accelerator.


	3. Chapter 3

Kate made short shrift of the run to the Neidermann house, but even as she pulled up she could see Montgomery's car outside.

"They were cadets together," she'd explained. "In the Academy. Got assigned to the same precinct, the same shift … Montgomery was best man at his wedding."

"I didn't realise."

"It was the Captain who pushed for us to look for someone else in the Rossi case."

"Would you have arrested Keith otherwise?"

For a moment Kate didn't answer, just squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted. "The evidence was circumstantial, but –"

"Then you wouldn't." He turned enough in his seat so that he could look at her. "Other cops might be looking for a clean-up. You don't. You look for the truth."

"You've got this very honourable view of me, don't you?" she said, shaking her head, a rueful smile appearing on her face. "One of these days you might be sorely disappointed."

"Somehow I doubt it."

"Give it time."

"As long as you want, honey."

She threw him a glare, but that was all the comment she'd made. Now she climbed from the car, taking a moment to stare at the Neidermann house. "Every time," she muttered. "Every time I come here it's for something bad." She slammed the door closed, and walked up the inclined path between well-tended rose bushes towards the front door.

"How do you get used to doing this kind of thing?" Rick asked, following. "Telling people their loved one isn't coming home again."

"You don't," Kate said shortly. "And if I ever do, I'll know it's time to look for a new job."

The door opened, and Captain Roy Montgomery stood there. He looked slightly surprised. "I take it you broke almost every speed limit to get here," he said quietly.

"A few," she admitted.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He pulled the door wider, letting them both inside. "I've told him, of course."

"How did he take it?"

"About as well as you could expect." He glanced over his shoulder, towards what appeared to be the living room through an archway. A man sat on the sofa, his head dropped between his shoulders, staring at the carpet.

"Sir … there are questions."

"I know." Montgomery nodded and went back into the other room. "Mike?"

Neidermann lifted his head slowly. "What?"

He indicated the others. "This is Detective Kate Beckett and Richard Castle. They're going to find out who did this to Keith."

"I remember her." Michael Neidermann looked her up and down. "From when Liz was killed."

"That's right."

"You going to kill the bastard that did this? That took my boy?" Neidermann asked, glaring at her. "Because that's all I want to hear."

Kate didn't react to the animosity in his voice, stepping forward and saying only, "I need to ask you a few questions."

Neidermann gave a humourless laugh. "I remember these kind of interviews. I used to do them when I was a cop. Did the deceased have any enemies? Had he argued with anyone lately? Was he on drugs, or any other illegal substance?"

Kate gazed at him evenly. "And what would you answer?"

"Keith was nineteen years old. He was a good kid. His mother died when he was eight. Cancer. One minute she was this wonderful, vibrant person, and the next she was … old. At least it was quick." He shuddered, and the others could see he was still mourning her as well. "I retired early, to look after Keith. I didn't want him farmed out to relatives, or strangers, so I …" Again he gave the same dry, dead laugh. "Maybe I should have. Maybe they'd have been able to keep him safe."

"Mike, Keith was a credit to you," Montgomery said quietly.

"And I still let this happen."

"You did what you could."

"It wasn't enough. If it was enough he'd be upstairs right now, and not …" He couldn't go on.

Rick felt more than a little uncomfortable. He'd been with Kate on lots of occasions when she'd talked to relatives of the victims, and he'd always appreciated her ability to get information out of them. For a moment he wondered why she wasn't doing that now, wasn't sitting down, leaning forward, her body language telling the other person that here was a woman who wanted to know, who would listen, whose promises to bring the man who'd done this to justice would be honoured.

But … and that was the crux. _But_ Neidermann was an ex-cop, and he knew all the tricks. Not that Kate tricked anyone, although she'd never admit she let her guard down to show the real Katherine Beckett underneath the armour.

"Sir …" Kate spoke again. "When did you last see Keith?"

Neidermann pulled himself together a little. "Yesterday. He was on his way to school. We actually talked for a while, and he seemed … happy."

"Why wouldn't he be?"

Neidermann looked at her, an expression close to hate in his eyes. "He'd been having problems, ever since you accused him of killing Liz."

"It was her job, Mike," Montgomery got in before Rick could leap to her defence.

The hate faded, and his head dropped again. "I know," Neidermann murmured. "I just can't …"

Montgomery rested his hand on his friend's back, then got up, motioning to the other two to follow him back into the hallway. "Take a look in Keith's room, see if there's anything that might help, then go on back. I'll stay with Mike, bring him along to identify the … to identify Keith when he's ready."

"Sir –" She wanted to tell him they hadn't got the answers they needed, about enemies, friends, and everything else in between.

"No, Kate. I'll do what's necessary." He glanced at Rick, standing back. "Keith's bedroom is upstairs. First on the left."

Rick nodded and started up, feeling rather than hearing Kate eventually follow him. The door wasn't difficult to find. It was painted black, with a prominent 'KEEP OUT' sign above the handle. "Any guesses as to what'll be inside? Cobwebs? Bats? A coffin, maybe?"

She understood his need to fall into flippancy, even if it was entirely inappropriate, so didn't allow herself to snap back. However, she did say, "Respect, Castle."

"Yeah." He opened the door.

The room faced south, getting the sun most of the day, and a glowing rectangle lay on the floor, trying to push back the gloom. In truth, it wasn't really that gloomy, but the colour scheme wasn't exactly friendly, with an unhealthy reliance on black, with black counterpoints and little touches of black just as relief.

Kate sighed as she took it in. When she'd had to tell the Rossis about their daughter, she'd been shown her bedroom, and it was pretty much like this. All the soft toys had been packed away in cupboards, every single little bit of girl frippery taken down as if it had never existed.

"What are they?" Rick asked, pointing to black posters on the black walls. In response Kate switched on one of the table lamps, and he could see faint images in bright colours appear. "UV?"

She nodded. "Secret. Hidden."

"You know, if Alexis ever turned around and said she wanted to do her room up like this, I'd be reaching for the phone book for a therapist."

"Pyjamas?" Kate reminded him.

"This isn't the same."

"It's still an obsession."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Obsession never is." She spoke like she understood.

Rick wanted to push, to ask how come she seemed to know all about obsession, but mindful that he needed all his limbs, and preferably in working order, he wisely decided against it. Instead he stepped into the sunlight and looked around.

"Feeling safer there?" Kate teased.

"Absolutely," he said, taking in all the details. The holes in the closet door where a basketball hoop probably once hung, the school shoes half under the bed, an overflowing laundry basket.

But it was the dressing table that drew the eye. Perhaps it had been his mother's, Rick surmised, but the boy had appropriated it, painted it so deep a purple that the mind got lost in it, then swathed the mirror in black gauze, wrapped over and around and tied with ribbons of the same colour.

He moved closer.

It was a shrine. There was no other way to describe it. Tall candles had burned halfway down, their molten wax frozen in the act of dripping down the sticks. A necklace, just a simple silver chain with a plain cross, hung from the corner, while a dozen dark red roses, their hue sucking any residual life out of the room, lay in front of the gold photo frame. The young woman in the picture was smiling at the camera, in what was probably a high school photo, the kind where it's a production line – sit, smile, snap, thanks. But she looked genuinely happy.

"Is this her?" Rick asked, not touching anything, not wanting to disturb the ghosts that gossiped around the display. "The face you remember."

Kate turned from the closet. She nodded. "Elizabeth Rossi."

"She looks … nice." It was a lame word, and he felt embarrassed the moment he used it, but Kate took it in its intended meaning.

"She was. No-one had a bad word to say about her."

Rick shook his head. "Why is it always kids?"

"Not always." Kate turned her attention to the bedside cabinets, finding the usual tissues, lubricant and porno mags in the one on the right.

"Quite a few, though."

"It's because they're vulnerable. You feel it more."

He looked at her. "I thought you thought I didn't have feelings at all."

"I don't think I've ever quite accused you of that."

"Last week. When we were bonding over that cold pizza at the precinct – and I still say you should have let me order in from Sardi's."

"The pizza was fine, and what I actually said was you were trying too hard to be shallow."

"Same thing."

"No, it's not. And the point I was trying to make was that the death of a young person … well, we see ourselves. What we'd hoped to be and perhaps never became."

"All that potential … it's such a waste."

She sat on the bed and studied him. "Right before I was forced to let you follow me everywhere, I had a case. It was a research scientist, a doctor, who'd been mugged and killed on his way home from work." She paused, but she realised she had his full attention. "He never carried much cash, or credit cards, so his killer got away with about seventeen dollars and change."

"That's sad, but I don't see –"

"He was working on a cure for diabetes. Not just a new treatment, but something that could eradicate it from the planet. His colleagues all said he was on the verge of a breakthrough, but he kept it all in his head. It was all gone. He was fifty-eight years old."

"Kate, I get it. There's no age limit on people's potential."

"Yes, but that's not what I'm getting at. His wife, his children … they couldn't have cared less about his potential. Or the cure. They just wanted him to come home, and that was never going to happen again."

"The human face."

"Exactly." She fidgeted on the bed, then bounced a couple of times.

"I have to say, that has the potential to be disturbing," Rick pointed out, watching parts of her move that usually stayed still. "Or erotic, I'm not quite sure."

She ignored him. "There's something …" She slid off the bed and went down onto her heels, feeling under the mattress, and coming out with a cloth-covered book, black naturally. She sat back onto the counterpane, opening it and scanning a few pages.

"A diary?" Rick asked, sitting next to her so he could read over her shoulder.

"More like a journal. Random thoughts, scraps, general notes …" She closed it with a snap and stood up. "We'll take it back, get a better look at it."

He got up as quickly as he'd sat down, and felt something twinge in his back. Perhaps he was getting old. Looking around the bedroom until his eyes finally lit once again on the shrine, he was sure of it.

Kate quickly finished checking the room, but apart from the journal there was nothing worth noting. She slid it into her pocket. "Come on," she said, walking out into the hall and back down the stairs.

She stopped, hearing voices from the living room. As Rick stepped down behind her, she put one finger to her lips, and they listened in to the conversation.

"He was depressed, I know that." Neidermann was trying hard not to break down. "But the doctor had worked … well, miracles."

"Doctor?"

"Elliot Trask. He's a psychologist. A psychiatrist. One of those. I don't really know the difference. The school recommended him. After Liz's death."

Kate made a mental note of the name.

"How often did Keith go and see him?" Montgomery asked.

"A couple of times a week. It's all I could afford." There was a heavy sniffing sound. "But it was working. The last month, Keith's been so much better. Happier. Like life had begun to mean something to him again." Another sniff, longer this time.

"Mike …"

"He was happy, Roy. Actually happy. For the first time in months, he was smiling, like I'd got the old Keith back again." There was a pause, and when the voice came again there was such pain it was like a physical force in the room with them. "Why would someone do this to him now, Roy? Why take him away from me when he was getting better?"

Rick put his hand on Kate's arm. "Come on," he said very quietly. "This is … I feel like we're intruding."

"It's a murder investigation, Castle," she whispered back.

"I know. But this is grief. And it should be private."

She looked into his blue eyes, as always surprised by his flashes of humanity, when the immaturity fell away to reveal the man beneath. "I suppose the Captain will fill us in."

"You know it."

She nodded, and followed him outside. As she was about to step through the door, though, she glanced back, seeing Captain Montgomery on the sofa next to Neidermann, his arm around the other man, giving what comfort he could. Rick was right – they were intruding.

---

Lanie Parish was writing up her reports when Kate stuck her head around the door.

"So what have you got for me?" the police detective asked.

The ME had left a message with Dispatch, asking them to drop by, and now Lanie smiled at her friend, glancing past her to the empty corridor. "Where's your shadow? You finally had enough and shot him? Only I know a nice quiet little spot in Central Park where we could bury the body and nobody would be any the wiser."

"He's waiting in the car."

"How did you manage that? What did you have to promise him?"

"I told him he could play with the siren on the way back if he was good."

"I'm surprised you haven't offered to buy him an ice-cream."

"That's next on the list."

Lanie laughed. "Why don't you just take the man to bed and be done with it, I don't know."

Kate almost smiled. "Because that would be too … complicated."

"So you've thought about it?" Lanie's eyes widened.

Kate sat down heavily in the other chair in the room. "I'm choosy, not dead."

"So you've wondered what he looks like naked?"

"No."

"Don't you lie to me. I know you."

"Lanie, I'm here on business."

"I thought this was. Because I've heard he can be _all_ business, if you let him get down to it."

"Oh?" Despite herself Kate was curious, and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Who've you been talking to?"

"Just a few friends. I do have them, you know."

Kate ignored the slight dig. "And what do these friends of yours say?"

"That he's a rogue and a scoundrel, that he'll say yes to just about any skirt that wanders his way, but if he ever thinks of you as a friend, he's yours for life."

Kate thought back to the case a couple of months ago, when she'd met Maggie Maguire, a true friend of Rick's. "You know, I can see that happening."

"And _you're_ his friend." Lanie pointed at her with a pen.

"We're colleagues. That's all."

"You just keep telling yourself that." Lanie shook her head. "I suppose it's a start. Just promise me that when you get around to having wild, passionate sex, you'll tell me all about it."

"If that ever happens, I'll take pictures. Maybe sell tickets."

"I always knew you were an exhibitionist at heart. And I'll hold you to that."

"Fine. Now, can we please get back to the reason you asked me to drop by?"

Lanie sobered. "Yes. Keith Neidermann. Still no formal ID –"

"Captain Montgomery's bringing the father in to do that."

"So what I heard it right? They know each other?"

Kate nodded. "A long time." Her mind's eye went back a year, the pictures as fresh and clear as if it was yesterday. "When we were investigating Elizabeth Rossi's death, the Captain insisted Keith couldn't be involved. Not his godson."

"Godson?" Lanie repeated. "Ouch."

"Yes." She lowered her voice a little. "This one's pretty close to home, Lanie, so we have to do it right."

The ME nodded, her professional persona back in place. "Preliminary findings are that the victim was alive when his blood was drained."

"Conscious?"

Lanie shrugged. "I found a small puncture wound on the neck consistent with the use of a hypodermic. It's about the right place for someone to inject a local anaesthetic before attaching the tube, but –"

"You're saying he knew what was happening?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just giving you the facts. How you put them together is your job. I've sent a sample to tox, along with some of what's left of the blood. If I had to surmise, I'd say he was drugged beforehand. There's no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds, nothing under the fingernails."

"It's still a gruesome way to go."

"Not really." Lanie sat back. "Severe blood loss like that, the body goes into rapid shock, basically shutting down. He'd have felt cold, then sleepy. He wouldn't have known the end when it came."

"But someone still killed him." Kate sat up. "How soon for the results?"

"I've put a rush on it for you, but they're pretty backed up. Maybe this evening. If you're lucky."

"Soon as you can, then."

"I'll keep chasing." She glanced down at the papers on her desk. "Anyway, apart from that, he was a healthy young man. A little on the skinny side, but otherwise normal."

"Did he …" Kate realised what she had been going to ask. "No. Never mind."

"What?" Lanie half-smiled. "Believe me, you won't be able to shock me."

"Fine." She cleared her throat. "Had he … been drinking blood?"

Lanie whistled. "Okay, that's about as close to shocking as you can get. Why on earth would you ask that?"

"He was a member of _Polidori's._"

"The vampire club?"

"That's the one."

Lanie clicked her fingers. "I thought that name you mentioned before sounded familiar. Elizabeth Rossi. Raped and strangled in the parking lot, wasn't she?"

"She was Keith's girlfriend."

"Oh, honey." Lanie looked troubled. "Those families have been through enough already, and now this?"

"I know."

"Do you think they're connected? Someone out for revenge, maybe?"

Kate shook her head slowly. "I don't see how. We got the man responsible, and he's in jail serving a long sentence."

"But that's why you asked about blood, wasn't it? To see if he'd maybe gone too far with this vampire kick."

"Maybe."

"Well, stomach contents were normal, as far as they went. A small amount of steak, rare, fries, and at least two glasses of red wine. But no blood."

Kate felt an odd sense of relief. "Good."

"And before you ask, there's none missing from his body either. We measured what was in the jars."

"That's … good." Kate stood up. "Anything else?"

"When there is, you'll be the first to know."

"Then I have to get back. Otherwise Castle might have started to tear up the car seats."

"Just so long as you make sure he gets a long walk and uses the litter box like a good boy."

A smile finally cracked Kate's face as she contemplated the mental image of Richard Castle on a lead. "Now that I would sell tickets to."

---

"You're thinking."

"What?" Kate glanced at Rick as they rode the elevator up to the squad room.

"You're thinking. I can tell. You always go quiet." The doors opened and he let her out first. "Me, I talk when I'm thinking. To myself, if there's nobody else around, or to my mother, or Alexis. Or you."

"I'd noticed."

He followed her inside. "Only it helps. Talking about it."

"What helps is letting me think in peace."

"Hey, I hardly said a word all the way back. And, by the way, you broke your promise."

"We didn't need the siren." Kate slipped out of her jacket and tossed it onto her chair. "Esposito."

The detective was standing by the murder wall. "Boss."

"Where are we?"

"Not much further on." He tapped the crime scene photos. "CSU says they can identify two people in that area plus the victim for sure, since the impressions in the dust weren't workboots, but that's about it."

"Two people," Kate mused. "One to restrain him, another to do the deed itself, perhaps." She looked at him. "No idea of height, age, weight?"

"Nope. No prints anywhere, so probably latex gloves. They're not holding out much hope on DNA either, although they've taken about a thousand swabs from every surface. They have said that if we can find the shoes, they're sure they can match them, but that's about it."

"It's a start."

"How did it go at _Polidori's_?"

"About as helpful as last time." Kate handed Esposito the evidence bag containing the anonymous letters sent to Derek – sorry, _Oslo_ Jackson. "See if you can get anything usable off these."

He glanced at the printing. "Ah, threatening letters. How original." He headed off towards forensics.

Kate turned back to her desk to see Rick flicking through a couple of the files in her in-tray. She crossed quickly to him and slammed her hand down on his fingers. He cringed, his mouth opening in pain.

"Ow!"

"Private, Castle," she said, releasing him. "That's why it says confidential on the folder."

"Do you have to be quite so physical?" He nursed his hand against his chest.

"Yes."

His mood switched, as it often did, and he smiled. "There are other ways we could do that, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie." She sat down.

He checked his fingers over and dropped into the seat next to her. "So what next, Detective Beckett?" he asked formally, one eyebrow raised.

"The journal." She tugged it from her jacket pocket. "There might be something in here that Keith didn't tell his father. A clue to who killed him."

"We'll get him, Kate." Rick spoke quietly, just for her. "We'll get the bad guy."

"I know." Somewhere inside her, locked in the place nobody else knew about, another face joined all the others, and a promise for justice made. "I know," she said firmly.


	4. Chapter 4

She'd had the journal copied, blown up so they could read it more easily, the pages spread out across the table in the interview room. Although reading it was perhaps easier said than done.

"God, Kate, his handwriting's worse than yours," Rick complained.

"Cops and doctors. No-one else is supposed to be able to read their notes."

"Yes, but even you can't read your own sometimes." He rubbed at his eyes. "That's why I use a computer."

She was studying one of the pages. "But your handwriting's perfectly legible," she said, unaware she'd paid him a compliment.

He wasn't, though. A smile slid across his face. "That's not what my mother says. She's convinced the reason my first novel wasn't accepted for a long time was because nobody could read it."

"I thought it wasn't accepted because it was crap."

His hand leaped to his chest. "Kate, that is wounding."

She couldn't help her lips twitching. "I've read it. It's crap."

"Okay. So it's true, but still wounding." He grinned. "And I keep forgetting you're a closet Castle fan."

She lifted her head for a moment and glared at him, hot enough to ignite the paper on the table, then continued reading. "Anything on yours?" she asked, her tone icy in comparison.

"Nope. Well, not much. Most of it's gibberish, interspersed with morbid sketches." He turned the sheet he was looking at around so she could see it. "The funeral procession is pretty well rendered, though."

Kate glanced up. "Mmn. Mine has a corpse on it."

"No wonder he was seeing a shrink."

"I'm not sure it was working though. Listen." She read aloud. "_'Hate the tablets. Make me feel like I'm not here, like my body is disconnected from my brain. Take them because it makes Dad feel better, not me. I don't want to feel like I'm somewhere else. I want to be here. I want to remember. I don't want to forget Liz_.'"

Rick nodded. "He mentions her here, too. '_Liz's birthday. Bought her flowers, left them down by the club. Black roses. Near enough in the dark. When I came out, some bastard had stolen them. Won't do it again. Keep them close to me_.'"

"The roses in his bedroom," Kate said quietly. "Is there anything else about the club?"

"A bit." He picked up another page. "There's an entry dated August 17th. '_Went there. I didn't know what to expect, but they remind me of Liz. They're all crazy, of course, but then so am I, although Trask would say I was merely experiencing the normal cycle of grief. Kazia says I should join_.'"

"That girl was called Kazia." All blonde hair and pale skin, enlivened by those blood red lips …

Rick nodded. "It must be her. Not exactly a common name."

"We'll interview her."

"And Dr Trask?"

"Of course."

"Won't we need the next of kin's permission? To talk to Trask, I mean. That whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing?"

"Since when were you ever worried about confidentiality? And I ask this as someone whose desk you were rifling only a short while ago."

"Not rifling. Otherwise I'd comment on the change of underwear you keep in the bottom drawer."

Her eyes widened and her hands went hard and flat onto the surface of the table. "Castle, if you've touched my things, or done anything to them, I'll –"

He held up one finger. "Never touched them. Cross my heart and hope to die." He suited the word to the deed.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're a sceptic."

"Where you're concerned? I have to be." She shook her head. "And don't go through my stuff."

"Sometimes it's the only way to get to know a person, to go see what makes them tick."

"Do it again and I'll shoot you."

"I'll put it on my 'not to do' list."

"How long is that now?"

"Oh, a couple of yards. In very small print." He smiled. "And what about Trask?"

She let him change the subject. "Don't worry about that. I think the Captain should be able to arrange for us to get the real dope on Keith." She went back to her reading.

After another half an hour, Rick was developing a headache. "If I look at one more drawing of a gravestone, I'll …"

Kate sat back, stretching her neck. "You'll what?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something." He watched her try to rub her own shoulders. "Would you like a neck rub? I'm really good at those. Ask anyone."

"No, thanks. I'll live."

"Your loss."

"I hope so."

Rick glanced at the pages still to decipher, and swallowed a groan. "Do you think Neidermann read these?"

"You mean the father?"

"Yes. I was just wondering if he'd found the journal like we did. Read it through."

"Maybe. But I don't intend asking him, not yet."

"You don't think he was involved in his son's death, do you?"

Kate stopped moving, her hands clasped around the back of her neck. "No. Not … directly."

"You saw the Bible," he said pointedly.

It had been lying on the side table, under the leaves of a large pot plant, its cover faded, the spine showing much use.

Kate nodded. "Yes. Not exactly prominently displayed, but well-thumbed."

"Neidermann senior, do you think?"

"Well, it could have been Keith's, but from his room and all … this … I'd have to say it was probably his father's." She waited for him to go on, but he just sat and gazed at her expectantly. Eventually, and against her better judgement, she asked, "Why?"

"You tell me."

"Castle, I'm not playing. Whatever this game is."

"Come on, Kate. It meant something to you too, didn't it?"

Her lips pursed. "Maybe. Okay, yes. It did occur to me that maybe Keith wasn't just trying to find comfort about Liz Rossi's death. That perhaps there were other things going on in his homelife he was rebelling against."

"Like a father who sets a lot of store in religion."

"Or maybe Neidermann merely gained solace from it because he was worried about Keith."

"All the more reason to read his journal." Rick sat back.

"Have you? Read Alexis', I mean."

Rick's eyebrows lfted. "Read her what?"

"Her journal. Her diary."

Rick shook his head. "She doesn't keep one."

Kate wanted to laugh. "Of course she does. Every girl keeps one at some point in her life."

"Did you?" he countered.

"Once."

"Before or after the crush on Keifer Sutherland?"

She knew she should never have told him about that, but decided to answer honestly. "About the same time, actually. And for a number of years after."

"You should publish them. Make a fortune."

"They were full of angst and longing, and very boring."

He smiled. "I doubt that."

"You didn't read them."

"Can I?"

"No. I burned them, a long time ago."

_Liar_, his face said, but his voice stated, "Well, Alexis doesn't do anything like that."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am."

"But if she did … wouldn't you want to read it? See what makes her tick?"

"I know, thanks."

Kate shook her head, enjoying the sensation of winding him up for a change. "A fifteen year old girl, with a father who writes sensationalist prose and a grandmother who … well …"

"You can say it. Believe me, I have." He shuddered slightly.

She moved around it. "Of course she keeps a journal. And it's going to haunt you now, isn't it? What she might have said about you. Now that would make for an interesting book."

"Daddy Dearest?"

"Sounds good."

His face was about as serious as he ever got. "Kate, I know my daughter. She's well-adjusted, amazingly enough. She doesn't need a diary. And even if she did, I'd never read it. I respect her privacy. I always have."

"But there's a part of you that's thinking about it now, isn't there?"

He sidestepped the issue as well, instead asking in an odd tone, "Did your father read yours?"

Kate sat back as the conversation turned on a dime, and for a moment it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. "No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Rick wanted to kick himself. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but she'd made him uncomfortable, so he'd lashed out. _Aren't you ever going to grow up?_ he asked himself. _Probably not,_ he candidly if silently replied. "Sorry," he said aloud.

"What about?"

"Being an insensitive bastard."

"Why stop now?"

"Okay, I deserved that. And the apology stays on the table. If your father is anything like you, he wouldn't have read your diary."

"You think?"

"I do. Because I know you."

"You know …" She stared at him, then stood up, her chair scraping on the floor. For a moment she paced, then turned back. "This is what you see, isn't it?" She held her arms out, almost on display. "And this is what you think you get." She dropped her hands. "But you're wrong. You don't know me, Castle. You know nothing about me."

The urge to defend himself overcame his common sense. "I know some things. I know how you like your coffee. I know you hate avocadoes. I know about your mother's ring, your father's watch." He reached out as if to touch the strap, but stopped himself before he made contact. "I think that's a little more than nothing." Suddenly he was angry again, although this time he knew he would never be able to explain why, and got quickly to his feet. "And I know you have the occasional lousy taste in men."

"Do you mean Will Sorenson?"

His lips set and he crossed his arms. "He was never going to stay, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie. In fact, don't call me anything. Just go away."

"No."

"What?"

"I know your determination. I know the drive. I know you the need you have inside to make things right, to give people closure." He moved closer, his arms dropping so that there was nothing between them. "So what if I don't know which end of the bath you sit at, or whether you prefer showers. They're not the important things. And if I can imbue Nikki Heat with even ten percent of your passion for solving cases, your passion for life, I'll consider I've succeeded." He looked into her eyes. "Katie … Kate … if anything – God forbid – happened to Alexis or my mother, you're the cop I'd want on the case."

Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, her own anger deflated. "I … thanks."

"I know you, Kate."

"Castle, you say that once more and, heaven help me, I will get my gun and –"

"And miss all this stimulating conversation?" His lips lifted on one side. "Of course you won't." He glanced at his own expensive watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date." He picked up his jacket, shrugging easily into it.

"And which one of your many girlfriends is it this time?" Kate asked as she sat back down at the table, and wondered why she still felt the need to snipe.

"Alexis, actually."

"Oh."

"She insisted." He smiled. "I think she's going to try and talk me into buying her a car."

"She's fifteen."

"Then she'll be wanting a chauffeur too." He laughed lightly. "You're more than welcome to join us. My mother will be there as a chaperone, and I know Alexis would like it. You can be a buffer, explain to both of them the error of their ways."

"I haven't managed to do that with you, yet."

"True." He patted his pockets, making sure his wallet, phone, keys were all present and accounted for. "But you should come."

"I …" She paused. "No. I can't. But thanks anyway."

"Your loss."

For a moment Kate had the strongest feeling that something had been avoided, and a strange sense of loss washed through her. Then she gave herself a mental slap on the back of the head and told herself not to be ridiculous. "So where are you going?"

"Antonelli's."

Now she almost wished she'd said yes. "The new place? The one all the critics are raving about?"

He chuckled. "I knew you read the food reviews."

"How did you get a reservation? I'd heard you had to book a year in advance."

"Two." He grinned. "But Alexis mentioned my name, and fame, so it seems, hath its privileges." He headed for the door.

"She's not really going to try and get you to buy her a car, is she?"

Rick stopped, leaned on the frame and spoke over his shoulder. "No. It's sort of a ritual. Today's the anniversary of the date the final divorce came through from Meredith."

"So it's traditional."

"We've been doing it a while now."

"Then … give her my best."

He smiled, the real, true Rick Castle smile that wasn't the cocky, arrogant, self-assured man she had come to know and loath. This was so much warmer, so much more sincere, and it hardly ever saw the light of day, and she didn't know if it was for her or because of Alexis. "I will." He strode out.

She dropped her head to stare at the pages again, picking one up, her forehead furrowing at the almost illegible scrawl. She swore quietly.

"I didn't know you knew that kind of language."

She looked up to see Rick leaning in the doorway, the smirk back on his face, one hand nonchalantly thrust into his pants pocket. "I thought you'd gone," she said, wincing inwardly at the inane words.

"Get your coat, Kate. You're coming to dinner."

She shook her head firmly. "No. I've got work to do. I have too much to be getting on with to go running off to –"

Suddenly he was in her face, his hands resting lightly on the table. "And it will still be here tomorrow. Plus all the other reports that will come in. More than enough for you to lose yourself in. But tonight, you are coming out to Antonelli's, and I won't take no for an answer."

They were so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "I … Castle, I really do have …"

"Katie."

"Don't call me Katie."

"Come out to dinner and I won't."

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away.

"Fine." Kate pushed her chair back so hard it squealed on the floor and stood up. "Give me a few seconds to freshen up."

He straightened up. "No problem."

She passed him, going to her desk for the small washbag she kept in the bottom drawer for the times, all too often, that she couldn't get home, quickly stuffing the change of panties in her pocket before he saw. As she headed out of the squad room, his voice stopped her.

"And just so you know … I don't have that many girlfriends, Kate."

---

Antonelli's was a restaurant that thought it was magnificent, its service first class, and that its food was second to none. Unfortunately, virtually all of that was true. It had opened to great acclaim some two months previously, and from that point on was _the_ place to be seen. Some people actually came to eat, too.

"I'm not dressed for this," Kate muttered as they walked towards its blazing beacons outside.

Rick glanced at her, at that favourite red sweater of hers, her black pants and jacket. "You look edible," he said, smirking a little.

"I'm still armed."

"Which just makes it all the more delicious." The smirk turned to a grin as she rolled her eyes.

The front of the restaurant was a huge plate glass window, letting everyone outside know that they were the unwanted, the unloved, because everyone who was anyone was already within, sitting at the Swedish tables on uncomfortable chairs.

There was a queue, some thirty people waiting in small groups, hoping there would be a cancellation, or maybe a death in the family so they could snap up the empty reservation. Rick smiled as he strode up to the front, ignoring the chatter of effrontery behind him.

"Name?" the doorman, a large black man with impressive muscles, asked.

"Richard Castle. And guest."

The man checked the fancy electronic clipboard in his hand. Then he smiled. "Of course," he said, stepping to one side. "Mr Castle. Welcome to Antonelli's."

"Kate." Rick swept his hand forward to indicate she should go first.

She stepped through the doorway, to be assailed by the scent of fresh bread, slow-cooking meat, with just a very faint hint of rosemary. "If they ever bottle that, I want some," she muttered, taking a deep breath.

"Come on," Rick said, grinning and taking her arm, steering her through the tables.

Although Antonelli's was fairly large on the inside, the owners hadn't so far succumbed to the notion of packing in as many diners as possible. Most tables could comfortably seat up to six, with the option of two more if they didn't mind knocking elbows, but there was sufficient room between each that a person could walk unmolested from one end of the room to the other, and conversations not overheard. For a more intimate dining experience, there were also discreet tables for two around the edge, half-hidden among the large aspidistras and flowering ferns dotted here and there. Music, something subtle and calming, played very quietly, almost on the edge of hearing.

"Impressive," Kate murmured.

"It's okay." Rick shrugged. "It's just a place to eat, fancier and more expensive than others."

"How expensive?"

He just smiled.

Along the far side wall was the bar, mirrors reflecting the room back, making it seem even bigger, while every colour and variety of alcohol on the face of the earth sat on the shelves. There were half a dozen people sitting on the high stools, and Rick made for the one with red hair falling down her back in a neat ponytail.

"Excuse me, miss, but are you picking up men?" Rick said into her ear.

Alexis turned on her stool. "What would you do if I said yes?"

"I…" He thought for a moment. "You know, I'm not exactly sure."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Then you're lucky. I'm not."

"But I bet your grandmother is." He glanced around but there was no sign of Martha. "Where is she, by the way?"

"The ladies room. Making herself more beautiful."

"I keep telling her it's a waste of time." He smiled at his own _double entrendre_.

Alexis laughed, then looked past him. "Hello, Kate."

"Hi, honey." Kate moved forward. "Are you sure this is all right?"

"Of course it is." She grinned, making her delicate bone-structure even more youthful than normal. "It'll be fun."

Rick had called Alexis on his cellphone on the way over, at Kate's insistence. She didn't want to be turning up and having his daughter upset at the unwanted intrusion: she liked the girl too much for that. Having the phone handed to her, Alexis had been most insistent that she come join them.

"I'm sure it will. And before you ask, your Dad's not buying you a car. Or I'd have to arrest him," Kate added.

Alexis opened her eyes wide. "A car? Is that what he said?"

"He did." Kate turned to Rick. "Do you mean he lied to me?"

"That's what I do," Rick admitted, enjoying the banter. "Lie. All the time. On the page. Only I like to think of it more as exaggerating, but with tremendous style."

Kate had to smile.

"Richard, darling." Martha walked up behind him and put her arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek before smiling at the other woman. "And Kate. I'm so glad he persuaded you."

"He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"That's because most people don't say it to him. It's what comes of lacking a father figure when he was growing up." She sighed melodramatically.

"And whose fault was that?" Rick put in.

"Well, it isn't mine."

"It would have helped if you'd at least got the man's name."

"I did. I just … forgot it in the heat of the moment."

"Mother!"

"And there was always someone around, don't you forget that," she went on, ignoring his discomfort. "You were never left alone."

"Yes," Rick agreed. "And every one of them a showgirl or wannabe Broadway star."

Martha shrugged elegantly. "At least you know how to put on eyeliner properly."

He cringed, just a little. "Mom, you can't just … telling people that doesn't do my reputation any good."

"What reputation?"

"Is this what it's going to be like?" he complained. "The three of you sniping at me all evening?"

"Of course," Kate said, putting her hand on his arm. "It's what makes life pleasurable."

"You want pleasure?" He leaned forward. "Katie, you only had to ask."

She pushed him away. "Don't call me Katie."

"Of course not, Detective." He snapped off a fairly smart salute.

Alexis giggled, while Martha just smiled and shook her head.

"Miss Castle, your table is ready for you now." A flunky in a black shirt and pants had approached on silent feet, and now spoke to Alexis. "If you'd like to follow me."

Alexis got down from her stood. "You know, I could get used to this," she whispered.

"Now, you know what we agreed," her father said. "No becoming a spoiled rich brat until you finish college."

"Spoilsport."

"That's my job."

Within a few minutes they were seated at a table, large menus spread out in front of them.

"Do they do anything simple?" Martha asked.

"Lobster salad," Alexis suggested.

"Ooh, yes, that sounds good. And they've got caviar, too."

"Whatever you want," Rick said.

"Now there's an offer I don't get every day." Martha smiled at him. "Even from you."

"Why hasn't mine got prices on?" Kate asked, leaning forwards so she could see Rick's. "Yours has."

He jerked it out of reach. "That's because this is my treat."

"I pay my own way."

"Not tonight."

"Castle –"

"Kate, _I_ asked _you_. Nothing about splitting the check. I think I can just about scrape together enough money so we don't have to wash dishes."

"I don't like to owe anyone for anything," she said stubbornly.

He felt a stab of something that hurt, just a little. "You wouldn't have to owe me, Kate. I told you. This is my treat." He covered it with a smile. "But if you like, you can buy the Danishes next time."

"That's not the same."

"It's as good as you're going to get."

"Castle –"

"Children, children," Martha interrupted, her eyes going from one to the other. "If you can't play nicely you'll have to go and stand in the corner until you can behave yourselves."

Kate broke Rick's gaze and looked at the older woman. "Sorry."

"Rick?" Martha asked, staring at her son.

For a moment he looked like the little boy he must have been once upon a very long time ago before he became the little boy he still was. "Sorry, Mom."

"Good." She nodded, satisfied. "Now, why don't you tell us about the case you're both working on?"

"No," Kate said firmly. "No shop talk."

"It's okay," Alexis said. "Dad often talks about the victims." She saw something in Kate's eyes, because she added quickly, trying to make up for the _faux pas_, "I mean, not in detail. Just generally. Because it helps sort things out for him."

"You talk about the cases?" Kate asked, turning to Rick, who had the grace to look even a trifle abashed.

"A little. Just … you know … a hair. Maybe two."

"He never gives names," Martha put in. "Even when they're important."

"It's confidential, Castle," Kate said, her voice low. "What we do. You know? Like we talked about earlier? I would have thought you realised that by now."

"I do!" he insisted. "But when I'm writing I bounce things off my family, and I … well, I guess I can't break the habit."

"Try."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I mean, this case, the kids from _Polidori's_. The most I'd be talking about is –"

"_Polidori's_?" Alexis was wide-eyed. "There's a case involving that club?"

All three adults looked at her, varying expressions on their faces.

"You know about it?" Rick finally asked.

"I … I've heard of it." She'd gone even paler than normal

"God, please just tell me you're not a member." He stared into her eyes, willing her to give the right answer.

"No, of course not." She looked faintly disgusted. "It's not my kind of place. But I know a couple of girls who are."

"From school?

"Yes."

"Alexis …" Kate glanced at Rick, wanting permission, but he got there first.

"How well do you know them, sweetheart?" He took her hand.

"Just … you know, friends."

"Close friends?"

"Dad, what is this about?" She glanced from one to the other. "Has someone … died?"

"Yes, Alexis," Kate said. "Someone has. A boy named Keith Neidermann."

Alexis' hand flew to her mouth. "No."

"Do you know him?" Rick asked, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach.

"No. Well, I met him once. Kazia introduced us."

"Kazia?" Kate sat forward.

"One of the girls I told you about." Alexis looked into her father's face, tears beginning to well under her lashes. "He's not really dead, is he?"

"I'm afraid he is, kitten," Rick confirmed.

"Alexis, what was their relationship?" Kate asked. "Kazia and Keith."

"She loved him."

For a moment neither Rick nor Kate moved. When they'd met Kazia at the club earlier, she hadn't said anything about being Keith's girlfriend, or even seeming that concerned with his well-being beyond asking if he was in trouble.

"How old is she?" Kate asked gently.

"Fifteen. Her birthday's a few weeks after mine." She blinked hard. "Are you sure Keith's really dead?"

Kate couldn't help the mental image of the boy laid out, jars of blood beneath the gurney, the plastic sheeting giving everything an unholy glow. "Alexis, I need to ask you some questions. Do you think you can answer them for me?"

Alexis nodded, swallowing.

"Not here," Rick said firmly. "Back at my place."

Kate nodded. He was Alexis' father, and for once he was in charge. "That's fine."

Martha stood up. "You take her home. I'll get them to do us something in the way of take-out and follow you."

Rick smiled gratefully at his mother and pulled out his wallet, sliding his credit card from inside and handing it over. "I know you know how to forge my signature."

"No problem."

He turned back to look at his daughter, noting the way she was shaking slightly. He usually forgot she was only fifteen, thinking of her as so much more mature than that, but when it came down to it, she was only a teenager, little more than a child herself. "Come on," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently as he got up. "I won't go anywhere."

She let him lift her to her feet. "Okay, Daddy," she said, moving close to him so he could put his arms around her.


	5. Chapter 5

Back at the apartment Rick made sure Alexis was sitting comfortably before taking Kate to one side, far enough away so that his daughter wouldn't pick up the conversation.

"How do you want to handle this?" he asked quietly, ready to fight if necessary.

Kate surprised him. "In this instance, I think you should."

"Really?"

"Yes." She shook her head slightly. "Rick, I don't want to upset Alexis any more than we have already. I'm not that much of a bitch."

"You're not a bitch at all. And you called me Rick."

"Slip of the tongue."

"I liked it."

"Let's get on with it, shall we?"

Rick nodded, with just a slight lift to the corners of his mouth, then went back into the living area to sit down next to his daughter. "Kitten, you okay?" he asked.

She nodded, blowing her nose on a tissue. "I'm fine." She smiled shakily. "I don't know what's got into me."

"It's okay," Kate said, lowering herself into the armchair opposite. "It's natural."

Alexis sniffed. "I'm okay now. What do you want to know?"

Rick wondered if he'd ever felt more proud of her. "You said you met Keith Neidermann."

"Yes. Kazia introduced us."

"Is this Kazia Bazyli? Long blonde hair, almost to her waist?"

Alexis nodded. "That's her. She spends hours straightening it."

Rick's mouth twitched at one corner. His daughter obviously considered that a total waste of time. "And she's a member of _Polidori's_."

"Yes."

"Then I think you'd better start at the beginning."

Alexis took a deep breath, wiping her nose again before speaking. "Like I said, I know Kazia from school. We're not friends, not like Becky or Claire, but … she's okay. A bit strange, but okay."

Rick pushed a strand of long red hair where it had come loose from her ponytail off her shoulder. "Go on."

"We've hung out a few times, nothing major. It was when we were having coffee and studying after school one day that Keith turned up. She introduced us."

Glancing at Kate, he asked, "What did you think of him?"

"Sad. He sat with us for a while, told a few jokes, but … it was all an act. I could see it in his eyes. So very sad."

"When was this?" Kate put in quietly.

"Just after Christmas."

"What did you talk about?" Rick wanted to know.

"Nothing much. He didn't even mention _Polidori's, _just asked what we were studying, and about school, whether I enjoyed learning. He was interested to hear who my father was, but that was about it. They left after about half an hour."

"And you didn't see him again?"

Alexis looked down at her hands. "Not to speak to … no."

"Kitten?"

"Dad, I …" Alexis stopped, biting her lip.

"What is it?"

"I have to tell you something, and I …"

Rick's mind raced through all the possibilities, including the least likely – pregnant, married, pregnant _and_ married … He swallowed. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I … went to _Polidori's_."

"You did?" He couldn't believe the relief that washed through him.

"It was only the once," she went on quickly, mistaking the look on his face for annoyance. "It was after meeting Keith. Kazia insisted, said I'd enjoy it, that I'd …" Her own forehead creased. "I didn't. It was too … weird. I didn't even have a drink. I just took a look around and left."

"It's okay, Alexis."

"And I felt so guilty about it I grounded myself for three weeks."

His eyebrows raised. "You did?"

"I thought a month would be too much, but a fortnight wasn't long enough."

He'd thought he couldn't be prouder of her, but he was wrong. "Right." Something occurred to him. "Was that when I managed to get those tickets for 'Wicked'? And you said you couldn't go because of school work?"

She nodded. "And I really wanted to see that show."

He took her hand and smiled. "It's okay. I'll get some more."

"Thanks, Dad." She grinned shakily.

"Alexis, you said Kazia loved Keith?" Kate didn't want to break into their moment, but felt she had to.

"That's what she told me."

"Were they sleeping together?"

"She's only fifteen!"

Kate hid the smile that threatened. "That doesn't stop people. I take it they weren't?"

"No." Alexis sighed heavily. "Kazia wanted to, but apparently Keith said no."

"Good man," Rick murmured, glad that Kate had taken over. He just didn't feel comfortable interrogating his own daughter.

"And what about him?" Kate asked, ignoring the aside. "How did he feel about her?"

"Oh, it wasn't love. More … amused toleration."

Kate's lips twitched and she glanced at Rick. "I can tell you come from a literary family."

Alexis shrugged. "I think she was just a … a …"

"Diversion?" Rick suggested.

"Yes. A diversion. Someone pretty enough to be seen with so nobody else would bother him."

"You got all this from one half hour meeting?" Kate asked.

"I suppose there's more of my father in me than I realise. I sort of put two and two together." Alexis smiled. "And he seemed so sad, I asked Kazia about him the next time we saw each other. That's when she told me about his ex-girlfriend."

"Elizabeth Rossi."

"Yes."

"Did you know her?"

"I never heard of her until Kazia told me."

"And their relationship, Kazia and Keith. If it wasn't sexual, could she have been jealous of anyone else?"

"I don't know. We haven't talked for a while. Not since I …" Her mouth closed quickly.

"Not since you told her what you thought of _Polidori's_?" Rick said.

Alexis nodded. "I probably could have been more polite about it, but something about that place …" She shivered. "Anyway, I haven't spoken to her or her brother since."

"Brother?"

"Her twin. Jerzy." An odd look crossed her face. "He tried to hit on me."

Rick felt a spark of pure parenthood flare in the pit of his belly. "Did he, now."

"He didn't get anywhere, Dad," Alexis assured him. "He's too … creepy."

"That word seems to come up a lot."

"Was he jealous of his sister's involvement with Keith Neidermann?" Kate asked, seeing the pool of potential suspects widening.

"Oh, no. They were all part of the same group."

"Who else was in it?" Kate pulled her small notebook out of her pocket, her pen at the ready.

"Kazia, Jerzy and Keith, of course. Then there was Rhiannon – I don't know her last name, but she's about my age, maybe a year older. And Peter Trask."

"Trask?" Kate and Rick exchanged glances, each aware of the other's thoughts. Elliot Trask was the name of Keith's psychiatrist.

Alexis had noticed the look, but not the meaning behind it. "Yes. But he was more Keith's friend than anything."

"You met them all?"

"Just the once. At … at _Polidori's_." She looked guilty again.

"Would it help if I punished you?" Rick offered. "You know, take away privileges or something?"

"Oh, yes, please." She was all eagerness this time.

"Then I won't. And that's your punishment."

"Dad …" She sounded for once like the fifteen year old she really was.

"No. And that's an end to it."

She sighed. "Okay, Dad."

Kate looked down at the scrawl in her notebook, and steeled her lips. This reminded her too much of her own youth, when her father would do pretty much the same thing. She remembered feeling anger towards him, because she felt she was being unjustly punished, but later on realising he could have made it so much worse.

When she knew she wasn't going to smile, she lifted her head. "We need to talk to Kazia again," she said to Rick. "And her brother."

"You really think she might have done that to Keith?" he asked. "I know she didn't seem concerned, but … did you see her? She's maybe eighty pounds wringing wet. And even if Keith wasn't the muscular young man he used to be, there's no way she could have overpowered him on her own."

"Then perhaps her brother was involved too. Or one of the others of the group. We still need to talk to them."

"That might be difficult," Alexis put in. "Kazia and her brother are embassy brats. Their parents are something in the diplomatic service."

"Immunity?" Rick asked, glancing at Kate, one eyebrow lifted.

"Probably." Kate shook her head. "I can speak to the Captain in the morning, see if he thinks they'll co-operate."

"And if they won't?"

"We'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it." She looked back at Alexis. "Is there anything else you can remember that might help? Any other friends Keith might have mentioned?"

Alexis shook her head, just as the door opened and Martha bustled through, her arms full of brown paper bags.

"Rick, darling, the taxi driver is waiting. I didn't have enough cash on me, and he wouldn't take your credit card."

Her son got to his feet, taking his wallet from inside his jacket as he did so. "What happened? Did they run out of food?" he asked as he passed her, the smell almost overwhelming his taste buds.

"I didn't know what everyone wanted, so I got a bit of everything." She shook her head. "And you have no idea what I had to promise to get it."

"Too much information, Mom," Rick said, almost out of the door.

"I have to go on a date with the maitre'D," she added over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen area. She smiled at Kate and Alexis. "Although that won't be any hardship – he's rather cute."

---

After eating what was admittedly some of the best take out food ever, and talking most definitely of anything and everything that wasn't related to the case in hand, Alexis announced her intention of heading to bed. "I have school in the morning."

"I can write you a note," Rick offered.

"Dad, you keep offering, and I keep saying no."

"One day you'll thank me."

"Not today." She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "'Night."

"Goodnight, kitten." He lifted his body enough to look at her. "And no more grounding yourself without telling me, okay?"

"Okay, Dad."

Kate watched her slowly climb the stairs, then got to her feet. "I'll be right back."

"Down the corridor, second on the left," Martha said, gathering up the plates.

"Right." Except she wasn't heading for the bathroom. On the second level of the duplex most of the doors were closed, but there was light spilling from under one of them. She knocked tentatively. "Alexis? Can I come in?"

"Door's open."

Kate pushed, stepping into a bedroom that was such a reflection of the girl that she had to smile. Old stuffed toys rubbed shoulders with fencing equipment and electronic games, while on the nightstand stood a photo of her father. Not one of the publicity shots, but an honest, smiling picture of the man. Tucked into the top of the frame was a strip from a photobooth, four pictures, again of Rick, but this time with a baby in his arms. A very young baby. He appeared … almost shocked, but in the last, his head dipped down a little so he could look into the eyes of his daughter, the look was pure love.

"I was eight days old," Alexis said, walking out of the en suite and seeing Kate's interest. "Dad wanted something just his, so he took me out, had these done."

"You were very pretty."

"I was red and squally," Alexis corrected. "But he didn't care. Mom said we should have had some done professionally, and there are lots of me in albums." She touched the strip tenderly. "But these are the first."

"Your Dad really loves you."

"I know."

"He doesn't want you to get hurt."

"I know that too." She busied herself getting out pyjamas from the chest of drawers.

"He worries about you."

"And I worry about him. I don't want to see him get hurt either."

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are we talking about the same thing?"

"I'm not sure." Alexis turned around. "Don't hurt him."

"I've no intention of doing anything like that."

"No, I know. But intentions don't always come out the way we plan." She stepped forward, the nightclothes grasped in her hands like a shield. "He's not what you think. I know he comes across as all … brash, and childish, and … everything. But he's not really."

"I know." As she said the words Kate was surprised to realise she meant them.

"It's an act. He's done it for so long, he thinks it's real, but … I know better."

"You should. You're his daughter."

"Maggie knows too."

Kate felt herself bridling. "I'm sure she does."

Alexis smiled a little. "You'd like her if you got to know her."

"I don't think we've got anything in common."

"You have my Dad."

She shied away from the subject. "Alexis, this isn't why I came up here."

"I know." She smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You wanted to tell me that bad things happen to good people, and that you and my Dad will find out who did this."

"Pretty much, yes."

"I'm fifteen, Kate. And I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were."

"And I know you and my Dad will solve this."

"You have a lot of faith in him. In us."

Alexis shrugged. "He's my Dad. And you're you. He has a lot of faith in you too." She glanced at the photo by her pillow. "You know, sometimes I wonder what Dad would have been like if he'd had a father of his own to look up to, to want to be like."

"Do you want to be like your father?"

"Better him than the deep-fried twinkie, don't you think?"

Kate couldn't help the chuckle. It seemed even Alexis thought of her mother in that way.

---

"Did you find everything okay?" Rick asked, wiping a plate before adding it to the stack in front of him as she descended the stairs.

"What? Oh, yes. Fine."

"Is she in bed yet?" There was just the trace of a smirk to his lips.

_Damn him_, she thought, but with little real heat. _How does he know things like that?_ "Nearly."

"Then I think I'll pop up and say goodnight." He put the tea towel on the counter.

"I thought you already did."

"I just want to make sure you didn't say anything I'll regret." He almost ran up the steps.

Martha chuckled, shaking her head at her son's antics. "Coffee?" she asked, holding up the jug.

"Mmn, yes, please."

"Good." She poured. "And we can have a little chat."

"Look, if this is about my intentions towards your son then I've already –"

"Told Alexis you haven't any?" Martha finished.

"Exactly."

"Odd, but I don't think that's what your heart is saying." Martha swept to the couch, putting one of the mugs down on the table before she arranged herself elegantly on the cushions.

"Martha, I don't … any relationship with Castle … with Rick … outside of what we do now, well, it would be too complicated."

"Like you and that FBI agent?"

Kate felt a frisson of anger burn up her spine. "He told you."

"Of course. Well, not in so many words, but I'm his mother. I can read between the lines."

"Then you'll understand when I say this is a topic I don't want to discuss."

"That's fine." Martha took a sip of her coffee. "I don't think Rick feels that way."

"I wouldn't know. We haven't talked about it."

"No?"

Their conversation of earlier in the day suddenly blossomed in Kate's mind.

"_I know you have the occasional lousy taste in men."_

"_Do you mean Will Sorenson?"_

"_He was never going to stay, Katie."_

She took a deep, cleansing breath. "Martha, I appreciate your concern, honestly I do. But I don't have any designs on your son. He's not my type."

"Darling, he's everyone's type! As long as they're female, under the age of about seventy and breathing. And I have to say the age thing is a bit iffy."

"Well, not mine."

Martha held up a hand. "Fine. You can go on denying it, but I'm a woman. I see into the truth of these things."

"This time you're wrong."

"Are you so sure?"

Kate wondered why she was protesting quite so much, so instead said, "Martha, don't go trying your lifeskills on me. I'm a cop. You only get to see what I want you to see."

At that Martha smiled. "Yes, dear. Of course."

"Now, can we change the subject?"

---

She was in bed, the only light in the room coming from where the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. He felt a tightening in his stomach. She hadn't done that in a long time, not since he'd convinced her monsters weren't coming to get her. He wouldn't be surprised if … yes, there it was. The old toy elephant she'd had when she was five, tucked under the covers with her, only one ear and a trunk showing.

No matter how much she might protest she was okay, that what he did never affected her, that these murderers he and Kate put behind bars were about as real to her as one of his novels … maybe it wasn't quite the truth he'd believed.

He stepped forward, watching her. His daughter. His flesh and blood. The fruit of his loins. The apple of –

"Stop it, Dad," she said quietly.

"I thought you were asleep."

"You're too loud."

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you staring."

He smiled. "No you can't."

"_I_ can." She lifted her head to look at him.

"Sorry."

"Granted."

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine, Dad." She yawned. "Just tired."

"Did you and Kate have a nice talk?"

"I like her."

"So do I."

"I know." She smiled and snuggled down into the pillow.

"Alexis …"

She opened eyes already cloudy with sleep. "What?"

"Do you … keep a diary?"

She tried to focus a little clearer. "Why?"

He shook his head quickly. "Nothing. Never mind. No reason."

A little smile lifted her lips. "It's okay, Dad. I haven't kept one for years. Not since I took it to school one day and Tommy Bates stole it out of my locker."

"I don't remember that."

"I didn't tell you." She yawned. "I dealt with it."

He stroked her red hair, fanned out on the pillow. "What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?" he asked softly.

"Not sure I want to know," she said, her words falling away as her eyes closed again. "Just lucky I …" She was already asleep.

"Oh, yes," he said, tucking the cover up around her a little tighter. "Lucky."

---

"How is she?" Kate asked, turning from studying the books on the shelf.

"She'll be okay," Rick said, heading for the wet bar. "But for now she's gone to sleep."

"Your mother asked me to wish you a goodnight from her."

He glanced at the clock, then at the door. "Why, where did she go?"

"Bed."

"Really? This is early for her. She doesn't normally get home until the birds are singing."

"I don't think she wanted to leave Alexis. In case she wanted something."

Rick had to smile. "She loves her granddaughter."

"And her son."

"Well …"

"Of course she does."

He grinned wider. "Hey, what's not to love?" Lifting a decanter from the bar, he said, "Scotch?"

"I can't. I have to drive home."

"You could always stay here." He added quickly, seeing the look on her face, "I have a spare room, Kate."

"No, that's fine."

"And if you stay, then we can go straight to the precinct. No waiting."

"No." She barely managed to stifle a treacherous yawn.

"Kate, you can't drive. Not in your condition." He put down the decanter. "At least take a look at the room. It's really nice."

"Castle …"

"Please?" He was doing the puppy-dog look again, and she had to sigh. Unfortunately it gave him the idea that she'd surrendered. He grinned. "Come on." He took her arm and urged her back up the stairs.

Opening one of the doors at the end of the corridor he switched on the light, filling the room with a soft peach glow. "Alexis' idea," he explained, stepping inside. "All mod cons, fully fitted bathroom, towels in the cupboard, extra blanket in case you get cold …"

"Are you trying to make me stay or buy the place?"

He grinned. "And I'm right next door in case you need anything."

"Is this where Maggie stays?"

The grin froze. "Well, no. She has the room the other side. It's where she always … it's traditional."

"So this really is the guest room."

"Didn't I say that?" He seemed a little uncomfortable, and covered it with a cough. "Anyway, breakfast will be at eight, and –"

"I want to be at the precinct for seven-thirty."

"Right. Of course. Breakfast at six, then." A slightly pained look crossed his face as he realised what the time was already. "Better get my beauty sleep." He leaned in towards her, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her cheek, but instead he whispered, "'Night, Katie," before leaving the room.

"Don't call me Katie," he heard her hiss angrily at him as he closed the door quietly.

He grinned. That was better. The day wasn't complete without getting totally on her nerves. Walking into his bedroom he began to get undressed, and he'd stripped down to his boxers when the phone rang.

"Castle."

"Hi." It was Maggie Maguire.

He smiled, sitting down as he pictured her, all green eyes and short black hair. "Mags." His pet name for her. "How are things going in Tinseltown?"

"Fine, fine."

"Where are you?"

"My place."

"Your bedroom?"

"Of course. You?"

"Naked." He swung his legs up onto the bed and scooted back so he could lie down.

"So what else is new?"

He grinned. "That contract sorted out yet?" Maggie was stuck in Los Angeles for the time being, working on finishing her latest book and trying to get a film studio to not maul her last.

"We're working on it."

"Which is why I haven't let anyone buy the rights to Derrick Storm," he pointed out.

"They offered a lot of money."

"Never enough, Mags. Never enough. So, to what do I owe this honour?"

There was a pause, and he wondered if she'd taken offence, then she spoke again. "How's Alexis?"

"She's good."

"Only …" The pause this time was longer, and the overall impression he got down the phone line was of his friend chewing the inside of her lip. "I just got the idea … something might be wrong."

He half sat up. "Dammit, Mags, I told you not to practice that witchcraft on me!" Sometimes he wondered if she wasn't psychic. There had been times in the past when she'd kept them out of trouble simply because she'd felt they needed to be someplace else, and experience had shown him she was right more often than not.

"Then there is something wrong?" Her concern radiated from the handset.

"Not with Alexis, honestly."

"Then …" She waited for him to fill the gap. "Well?"

"All right. I'll tell." He explained in a few sentences, closing his eyes and letting his mind lay it out clearly for him, but knowing he didn't have nearly enough to have it make sense yet. "So she's not involved, at least not directly."

"But is Alexis all right? Do you want me to come? I can hop on a plane and be with you in a few hours."

Rick smiled. His Maggie, ever willing to step in at a moment's notice. "No, it's okay. She's fine. Just a bit shocked this sort of thing can happen quite so close to home."

"But you've dealt with murderers before. A lot of them."

"This time she'd met the victim."

"Oh, poor Alexis." He knew the expression on her face without needing to see it, and could tell what she was about to say before she came out with, "Tell her to call me. We'll talk. Any time. I'll make sure I'm reachable, day or night."

"Thanks, Mags."

"Look, are you sure I can't be more helpful there?"

"How's the negotiating going?"

The apparent non-sequitur didn't derail her. "My lawyers are handling it. I can be back in New York by midday tomorrow."

"You need to be there to tell them they're bastards and threaten to remove your name from the credits."

"I've already done that, Rick, but –"

"I'll get Alexis to call you as soon as I can. But you don't need to dash back."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I can handle this, Mags."

"If you're sure. Okay. But don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"Since when do I do that?"

"Since about … oh, always."

"I'll try and be good."

"Huh."

"I promise."

"Right."

He heard a phone ring in the room next door, his mind recognising it as Kate's, but only peripherally. "Mags, don't you trust me?"

"No. I know you."

"Far too well."

She chuckled, and it warmed him. "Okay. Look, I also called to tell you I've emailed the latest couple of chapters to you. I'm … not happy with them, but I can't figure out why. Maybe you could take a look?"

"Sure. When do you need to know by?"

"The usual."

"ASAP."

"That's the one."

"Well, I'm not sure I can do anything until maybe tomorrow evening, but I'll –"

The door flew open and Kate stood there. "Castle."

Rick stared at her. "Do you normally barge into other people's bedrooms?" he asked. "I could have been having phone sex here."

"Put your pants on."

"Why?"

"What's going on?" they heard Maggie's voice coming thinly from the handset still in Rick's palm.

Kate held up her cellphone. "That was Ryan. Someone's broken into the morgue and taken Keith Neidermann's body."


	6. Chapter 6

"I do not appreciate being dragged out of a warm bed just to find someone's stolen a corpse." Lanie Parish was not a happy woman.

"Whose?"

"Corpse?"

"Bed."

Lanie had to laugh. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know."

"You'll tell me eventually."

"Honey, I'd tell you now, but there are other folks ear-wigging."

Rick tried to blend into the background.

"I know what you mean," Kate said.

"You know, you can go ahead and talk," Rick said. "I'll put my fingers in my ears." He did just that.

"Don't be an idiot."

"What?" He'd raised his voice a little. "I can't hear you."

She tugged one of his hands away. "I said, don't be stupid."

"I thought I was being sensitive."

"You?"

"You know how to wound a man, don't you?"

"Years of practice." She turned from him back to her friend. "I'm presuming it's just Keith Neidermann who's missing."

Lanie nodded, stifling a smile. "There's three other lockers being used, but he's the only one that's walked."

"I hope you don't mean that literally."

"You mean did he rise from the dead and leave of his own accord? Somehow I doubt it."

"So do I." Ryan appeared from the gloom. "I've got the CCTV footage," he added, holding up a CD. "I've had a quick look, but it's pretty dark. There's a flash of a torch, a couple of figures, but that's about it. Maybe the techs can make it clearer."

"It's what they get paid for. So what happened?" Kate asked.

"The alarm went off, but before anyone could check it out whoever it was had gone. They only realised a body was missing at all because one of the night guards decided to run an inventory."

"Why would you have CCTV in a morgue?" Rick wanted to know. "I wouldn't have thought there was much call for the services of Burke and Hare nowadays."

"Because this isn't the first time the place has been broken into," Lanie said, surprising him. "Mostly it's kids out for a thrill, or druggies looking for a score. Not that we keep anything like that around, unless they really want to snort formaldehyde."

"I bet some of them try."

From the expression of disgust on the ME's face, it was obviously the case. "And as for the more formal bodysnatching? Not so much."

Rick was impressed that she had understood his cultural reference, but for a woman in her position perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. "So no selling body parts?"

"It happens," Lanie admitted. "Although not usually from places like this. Our security's normally too good." She glanced towards the empty locker. "Normally."

"Burke and Hare?" Ryan said in an aside to Kate, who shook her head. She understood too, but wasn't going to give Rick the pleasure of commenting on it. "Okay," the detective went on. "CSU will be here in a little while. There's something going on downtown so they're backed up a bit. But I'd say we're probably looking at gloves again."

Kate nodded. "I think you're right."

"Can't we have the lights on?" Rick asked, feeling something crawling up his total lack of spine. "In case we can see something important."

"No. Not until CSU have gone over the place." Kate looked at him. "Why, are you scared?"

"Me? No."

"You've been here before."

"In daylight. With people around. And fully lit."

"_We're_ here." She stepped closer. "At least we outnumber the corpses. Just." She reached around surreptitiously and pinched his ass.

"Wah!" he yelled, nearly jumping out of his skin. Then he saw her face. "That's not funny, Kate."

"I thought it was." Kate smiled sweetly at him, seeing Ryan half turn away to hide his grin.

Lanie laughed, then had to quickly cover her mouth with her hand as she yawned. "So is there anything else you two love birds want me to do, or can I go back to bed?"

"Tox results on Keith's body?"

"Sorry, honey, but not so far. I checked before I left tonight …" She glanced at her watch. "_Last_ night. If it's not ready by first thing, I'll stick a rocket under them."

"Anything I can do to help?" Rick asked.

"Not this time." Lanie yawned again. "If that's it then I'm leaving. If I'm lucky I'll manage to get a few hours sleep before he makes breakfast."

"He?"

She patted him on the arm. "Never in a million years."

"I'll find out."

"Then I'll get Kate to shoot you."

"So many friends …" Rick muttered, shaking his head.

"See you in the morning," Kate said, adding, "And give whoever it is my regards."

"Oh, I will." Lanie waved and disappeared through the swing doors.

"What exactly are CSU attending?" Kate turned to Ryan, who tried to appear wide awake and alert.

"Warehouse fire," he replied. "Only it looks like it was full of illegals."

"Bodies?"

"Lots of them."

"Was it deliberate?" Rick asked.

"It's the third in as many weeks."

Kate shook her head. That was the trouble nowadays, maybe even worse since the recession began to bite. Too many people still saw America as the land of milk and honey, streets lined with gold and a job on every corner, and were willing to pay to get there. Then they found the milk was rancid, the honey turned to grit and the gold so thin it blew away in the morning breeze. And too many were never seen again …

She caught herself. _Morning breeze? Damn it, now I'm sounding like him_, she thought, disgust flooding her mind. _Just like Castle._

"Not our case this time," she said shortly. "Not our problem."

The object of her affections looked at her oddly. "You okay, Kate?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

"O-kay."

To cover whatever her lapse had been, Kate said to Ryan, "Get that CD to the techs, and tell them to have anything they can pull off it ready first thing in the morning."

"Sure thing, boss." His face contorted as he swallowed a yawn of his own.

"Then make sure a uniformed is going to be around to let CSU in, and you can get to bed."

He grinned. "Now that's the kind of order I don't mind obeying." He hurried out before she could change her mind.

Rick looked at his partner. "What about us? Do we get to go to bed now?"

She glared at him, but kept her voice light as she said, "Well, I don't care what you're going to do, but I'm going home."

"What about my apartment?"

"No."

"But it's all ready."

"And I want my own bed." She buttoned her jacket against the cool night air. "Goodnight, Castle," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out of the morgue.

He looked around at the shadows, the deep wells of darkness in the corners of the room, and worse, the small reflections of light from the steel tables, winking at him like little eyes …

"Kate? Kate!" He hurried to the doors, away from his over active imagination. "I don't have transport …"

---

He knew he wouldn't make it in before she did. There were times when he truly believed she preferred the squad room to her own place, finding something restful in the controlled panic that sometimes ensued. Not that he was in the best of moods at the moment. By the time he'd got back into the fresh air, he'd just been in time to see Kate waving to him as she drove away, and it had taken ages to flag down a cab.

She was sitting at her desk, poring over reports, her dark hair tucked behind her ears.

"Katie."

She didn't look up. "Don't call me Katie."

"Thanks."

"What for?"

"Leaving me high and dry last night."

"You're a grown man."

"That's not the point."

"You don't appear to be damaged in any way, so you must have got home in one piece."

"How would you know? You haven't even looked at me."

She lifted her head, her grey eyes checking him up and down. "All of you seems to be present."

"I could be lying in an alleyway right now, my lifeblood oozing from my veins …"

"You're not, so sit down." She went back to her report.

"I'm beginning to think you don't love me," he said, lowering himself into the chair.

"You're right, I don't." She tapped the document. "CSU finally got to the morgue, and this is their prelim. As we thought, no prints, no usable DNA." She finally cracked a smile. "They've added a note at the bottom requesting that next time there's a murder, can we make sure it happens in the morgue, as it's so much easier to process."

Rick felt his annoyance slide away at her good humour. "_Eye of the Storm._"

She looked up at him, the smile still on her face. "I'd forgotten that. One body hidden among many."

"Just the one this time," Rick pointed out. "Any sign of Keith?"

The smile dimmed. "Not so far."

"This might help." Ryan hurried in from the direction of the tech labs, a file in his hands.

"The footage?" Kate asked.

"The very same." He spread the prints out across an empty desk. "It's the best they could do."

"Better than nothing." Kate studied the slightly grainy images of two people wheeling something through the frame. "Black hoodies, pants, gloves. No wonder there's nothing usable. And they're keeping their faces away from the camera."

"Both slim. Two boys, maybe," Ryan added.

"Or a boy and a girl." Rick tapped one of the photos. "Either I'm seeing things or that's blonde hair."

Kate looked closer. It certainly appeared to be a flash of pale hair at the edge of the hood covering his/her head.

"Kazia?" Rick suggested. "She's blonde."

"So are half the women in this city."

"Not half. Maybe a quarter. After all, you're a brunette, Alexis is a redhead –" He stopped at her glare. "But I get your meaning. No proof it's her. Although she could pass in a crowd for a boy." He indicated a female shape with his hands. "No figure."

Kate shook her head. "Still not enough." She exhaled heavily. "There's no way we'd be able to even get to talk to her, not on this evidence, even if her parents didn't work at an embassy."

"Are we sure it was them?" Ryan asked. "Maybe it was the murderer, afraid we'd find some evidence on him."

Rick got there first. "If it was Kazia, maybe it's because they believe Keith is going to rise again."

"Become a vampire?" The detective couldn't have looked more sceptical.

"It's the only thing that makes sense."

"No, it's not," Kate disagreed. "There are lots of things that … okay, they don't make sense, but nothing about this case does."

"And it doesn't mean that the girl wasn't involved in the murder," Ryan argued. "Maybe she got scared."

"Maybe. But if the murderer was worried about evidence, why leave the body where it would be found in the first place?" Kate countered. "There's plenty of other dumpsites, methods of disposal. Why leave the body posed like that?"

"Posed?" Rick sat up. "Interesting choice of word."

She shook her head. "Just a word. Don't read anything into it."

"No, but –"

"Castle."

He subsided, but that didn't stop his mind from taking the image and the word into his little mental workroom, where it could be pondered, poked and pried at until he had the truth from it. He almost smiled at the alliteration.

"Boss." Esposito hurried into the bull pen.

"What?"

He held up a wedge of papers. "_Polidori's _membership list." He fanned them out, laying them over the CCTV pictures. "The warrant finally came through."

"Just how many of them are there?" Kate asked, staring at the small print.

"At last count, some thousand and fifteen."

"Fourteen," Rick murmured, but nobody took any notice of him.

"Maybe half are active," Esposito went on, "but the others still pay their membership fees."

Rick let his fingers appear to idly move the sheets around, until he could quickly scan the 'C's.

"She's not on there," Kate said quietly, her lips curved.

"Just checking."

"I thought you trusted her."

"I do." He looked into her eyes. "Okay. Now I feel guilty."

"Good."

"I don't get it," Ryan said, thumbing through some of the pages himself. "There are kids from some of the city's most prestigious families on here. Lots of money. I mean, why would they need to be part of this whole vampire thing as well?"

"Money doesn't buy happiness," Kate pointed out.

"But it does buy psychiatrists." Montgomery stepped from his office. "Mike Neidermann's given his permission. You have an appointment to speak to Dr Elliott Trask in an hour."

Kate grabbed her jacket even as Rick got to his feet. "His office?"

"Yes." Montgomery's face was set. "Don't waste it."

---

Trask's office was exactly what they'd expected, all thick pile carpet, neutral colours, bookshelves from floor to ceiling lined with worthy tomes along two of the walls. Behind the desk was a large picture window, looking out over a small park, perhaps designed to show those who came needing his services that there was something to live for after all, while the other wall was graced with an abstract painting in muted tones of grey and green.

Elliott Trask, too, looked like what he was. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he had a receding hairline and glasses, while his clothes were expensive but subdued.

"Detective Beckett?"

"Yes. And this is Richard Castle."

"Are you a police officer too?" Trask asked, shaking hands.

"He's a consultant," Kate said quickly, enjoying for just a fraction of a second the possibility that here was a man who'd never heard of Rick Castle, and wondered what life would be like if that was the case with her.

"Fine." Trask motioned them towards two comfortable armchairs, then retreated behind his desk. "Michael Neidermann has asked me to be as honest as possible with you about his son, but you have to understand, if your questions impinge on any of my other patients, I won't be able to answer you."

"Doctor/patient confidentiality." Kate nodded. "I understand."

"But as long as we stick to Keith, I'll try to be as forthcoming as possible." He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.

"Thank you." She settled back in the chair, wondering idly if it was designed to be this comfortable to make people drop their guards. "What can you tell us about him?"

"I started to see Keith on a regular basis in July last year. His father was increasingly worried about him, and spoke to his school who recommended my services. He arranged for the sessions, generally once or twice a week."

"And what was your diagnosis?"

"Do you want it in technical terms?"

"Preferably not."

"Then I'll just say that he was severely depressed following the death of his girlfriend, and was finding it difficult to pull himself out. His father thought I might be able to help."

"Did you?"

"We … were making progress."

"That's not very specific."

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of the old-fashioned paper blotter. "You have to understand, psychiatry is not an exact science. I can't take on a patient and say, hey presto, in three months you'll be cured. Some people have been coming to me for years, and will continue to do so, just so they can function in normal society. Others find one or two sessions is enough, just by talking things out with someone who isn't their family."

"Which was Keith?"

"Unfortunately, one of the former. I always got the impression that he was humouring me." He shook his head. "Detective Beckett, half the battle is won because the patient wants to get better, that it's their choice. But Keith made it clear he was coming because his father insisted."

Rick saw Kate nodding out of the corner of his eye, and wondered why. Something else to put on the question side of the list, to maybe ask about at another time.

"But he was an adult," he pointed out, dragging his attention back to the conversation. "He didn't have to come if he didn't want to."

Trask shrugged slightly. "He loved his father."

"Were there problems at home?" Kate asked.

"I can't answer that."

"Did Keith think there were problems at home?"

"His father didn't like some of his interests, if that's what you're getting at."

"Like being a member of _Polidori's._"

"Yes."

"Did he talk about it much?"

"Hardly at all. The few times he mentioned it, he seemed amused by the goings on there."

"Yet he joined."

"I gather Elizabeth had been a member. It was his way of still being close to her."

"Were you worried about him going there?"

"I tried to talk to him about it, but he was very tight-lipped. I came to the conclusion that it was just a phase, something he needed right then to help get over the past, but that it wasn't likely to be harmful." Trask looked a little shamefaced. "All young people go through phases. Most of them get through them without recourse to psychiatry."

"Did he mention any problems he'd been having? Perhaps with other members?"

"No. Nothing like that. He never mentioned names. Besides, although he'd lost a lot of weight, he still knew how to take care of himself, if he had to."

"With violence."

"Not necessarily. Keith was a very … erudite young man. He could put across his ideas quite well. I imagine he would have been able to talk himself out of any situation."

"Not this one."

"No."

"What medication did you have him on?" She had her pen and pad ready.

"Keith was on antidepressants. Fluvoxamine, to be precise."

"Was he taking them?"

"He said he was."

"And you believed him?"

"He was generally truthful. I didn't see a reason to think he was lying."

"What are the side effects?" Rick asked. "I mean, all drugs have them."

"Insomnia, anxiety, decreased appetite, lack of sexual performance … there are others."

Rick was surprised. "You give tablets that cause anxiety to someone who's depressed?"

"Not everyone experiences all of the side effects, Mr Castle. Some people have no problems with them at all."

"What about Keith?" Kate asked, taking back the initiative.

"He … a few." Trask went on quickly, "But he was getting better. I would swear to that."

"His journal suggests otherwise."

Trask showed more life than he had the entire interview. "You found a journal?"

"Yes," Kate said. "Why?"

"He always told me he wouldn't." Trask waved his hand. "It's common practice to encourage a patient to keep a diary, to make a note of their feelings, their innermost thoughts. Then we go over the results at each session, see if there isn't something we can deal with right away, or that might need further work." He shook his head. "Keith refused."

"This seemed more …private."

"Can I … can I see it?"

Kate raised one eyebrow. "It's evidence, Dr Trask."

"Oh, I understand that. But perhaps later …"

"Why?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed them on the lining of his tie, an unconscious movement that left him looking weak and vulnerable. Sliding them back on, he focused on her. "Detective, I wanted to help Keith. I thought I was. Our last few sessions seemed to be more positive, as if he was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I want to assure myself it wasn't the oncoming train, and that I hadn't failed him."

"You think he was suicidal?"

"At first, but recently … he was talking about other people, not just Elizabeth. No names, as I said, but friends."

"Like your son."

"My …" Trask looked confused. "I'm not married."

"Peter?"

"Oh, you mean my nephew. My brother's son." He sat forward. "But all Keith's friends were … Peter's a member of _Polidori's_?"

"You didn't know?"

"No. No, I didn't." An expression of unease crossed his face.

"It seems to worry you."

"No. Not …" He stopped and looked at her. "A little."

"But all young people have their phases."

Hearing her repeat his own words back to him made Trask scowl before he caught himself. "You're right, of course. I am concerned. Perhaps I did gloss over the club with Keith, thinking that if I could help him defeat the depression, the need to go there would diminish with time. I should have realised."

"Realised what?"

"That it's always more difficult when it's someone close to you." Whether Trask was talking about Keith's loss of Elizabeth, or his own nephew, was unclear.

Kate chose not to pursue it, instead saying, "We'd like to speak to Peter."

"Of course." Trask shook himself. "I'll call my brother. Will this afternoon be soon enough?"

"That will be fine." Kate closed her pad and slipped it back into her jacket pocket. "Dr Trask, one last question. Where were you two nights ago between the hours of 7.00 pm and midnight?"

He looked affronted. "You don't think I had anything to do with Keith's death, do you?"

"It's a routine question. Just to eliminate you from our list."

Trask subsided a little. "I was at a formal dinner, in mid-town," he said. "A fund-raiser for the Metropolitan, hosted by the Mayor. Plenty of people saw me. Unless you consider his Honour would lie?"

"As I said, Dr Trask, just routine."

---

"That must have been annoying," Kate said as the elevator doors closed in front of them. "Actually talking to someone who'd never heard of you."

"Oh, he'd heard of me." Rick had his hands clasped behind him, and was rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.

"No, he hadn't."

"You didn't look at his collection of books."

Her heart fell, just a little. "Are you saying –"

Rick nodded, trying to keep the smirk from his face and failing miserably. "Bottom shelf, closest to his desk. _Gathering Storm, Storm Warning, Eye of the Storm_ … all my best work."

"Then why did he …" She stopped, then answered her own question. "To wrongfoot you."

"Psychiatrists hate talking about patients," Rick said. "I should know."

"Why? When did you ever see one?" Her eyes lit up. "Or have you? Professionally speaking?"

"Only for research," Rick insisted.

The doors opened and they walked out into the lobby.

"Research? Like I believe that. You're the perfect case for some of these high-charge doctors."

"Why, thank you, Kate." He grinned. "No, honestly. I'm quite happy in my own skin, but I went to one once, when I was planning on Derrick Storm having a breakdown and coming across a murder, but not knowing if it was all in his head or not."

"And what did they say?"

"Oh, no." He shook his head firmly as they reached the sidewalk. "Doctor/patient confidentiality."

"You don't need to tell me. I can guess. Peter Pan complex, emotionally immature, inability to deal with real life …"

"Kate, it's just like you were there."

She smiled. "I'm surprised they didn't want to lock you up and throw away the key."

"Maybe they did. And I'm really an escaped mental patient …" He advanced on her, his hands reaching out as if to wrap themselves around her throat.

She ducked under his embrace and opened the car door. "That I can believe." She slid into the driver's seat.

Hurrying around to the passenger door, he climbed in. "It's all my mother's fault, you know. Every single one of my little idiosyncrasies."

"I'm going to tell her you said that."

"Don't." He put a pleading note into his voice. "I couldn't bear to be beaten again."

She couldn't help it. She laughed. "You really are an idiot."

"Glad you noticed." He flicked his eyebrows at her.

"Anyway, I don't remember that plotline coming up in any of the Storm books," she said, starting the engine.

"I abandoned it. Too close to home."

"I think it's more likely that you couldn't think of a suitable Storm-related title for it." She pulled into the stream of cars.

"You know me too well."

"You keep saying that, and I'll be insulted."

He smiled at her, just a trifle sly. "I'm considering dusting it off for Nikki Heat, though."

"Don't even think about it."

"Why not? Nikki, in the throes of tormented sexual tension, goes to pieces on a case, and has to –"

"Castle. I'm warning you –" Kate's cellphone ringing interrupted her.

"Want me to get that?" he asked, reaching for her pocket.

She swatted his hand away. "No." Keeping an eye on the traffic, she managed to wriggle the phone out. "Now you can answer it."

He grinned and flipped it open. "Kate Beckett's phone."

"Rick?" It was Ryan.

"The very same."

"Are you on your way back?"

"We are."

"Put it on speaker," Kate ordered. He did what he was told, and she leaned forward a little. "What is it?"

"You might want to take a detour," Ryan said. "To the hospital."

"Why?"

"Someone's done a number on Derek Jackson. He's in intensive care."

"Which one?"

"Sending you the details as we speak."

There was a small buzz and the address of the hospital appeared. Rick held it up so she could see.

She nodded. "On our way." Her eyes flicked from side to side, seeing a break in the cars just ahead.

Rick closed the phone down, then looked at her expectantly. "Kate?"

"Fine."

He grinned and pressed the switch, the sound of the siren filling the air as she did an abrupt U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.

---

Jackson looked almost as pale as the sheets tucked neatly around him, as the plaster on his arm held up by a series of pulleys. A bag dripped something into his veins, while a monitor beeped regularly. Butterfly sutures dotted the cuts on his forehead and cheeks, but nothing could hide the bruising around his eyes and neck.

"Who did this?" Kate asked.

Jackson tried to shake his head but it hurt too much. "I don't know," he managed to say, his voice rough from the mauling it had taken. "Didn't see. Came up behind me, hit me." His one open eye closed for a moment, as if he was reliving it. "I think he wanted to kill me."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"I … already told the other officer."

"I know, but it's better if we hear it from you."

"Coming out of the club. I was walking to my car, someone hit me. Dragged me into … I think it was the lot."

Kate nodded. It was where the paramedics found him. "Go on."

"Kept hitting me. I couldn't defend myself." He glanced at his arm. "Felt the bones break," he whispered.

"It's okay," Rick said. "You're safe now."

"Did you see anything at all?" Kate wanted to know. "A shoe, a logo, anything that might give us a lead."

"No." A tear forced its way from under a swollen eyelid. "All I wanted was for it to stop."

"That's enough." The doctor stood in the doorway. "I told you a minute. You've had that."

"Of course." Kate nodded, then looked back at Jackson. "There'll be an officer outside the door, in case you remember anything."

He nodded sadly, already going back inside himself.

"Come on," she said to Rick, heading for the door.

"Detective …" Jackson's voice broke as he called.

"What is it?"

"Don't know if it … it means anything, but … he was crying."

"Crying?"

Jackson didn't respond.

As Kate and Rick headed for the nurse's station to talk to the doctor, a tall, impeccably dressed man pushed past them, going directly into Jackson's room. He looked worried.

Rick looked at Kate. "Is that –?"

"Mmn."

"I honestly had no idea he was gay."

She poked him in the chest. "And you don't go telling anyone."

He looked hurt. "As if I would."

Kate glared at him, but didn't answer, instead hurrying to stop the doctor before he could go off and deal with anyone else. "What's the diagnosis?"

The doctor perused the chart still in his hand. "Broken ribs, wrist, arm, fingers, heavy concussion, bruising to the throat, major organs … at a guess I'd say it was a baseball bat. Mr Jackson is lucky."

"You call that lucky?" Rick said, his eyes wide.

"Very. He seems to have a hard head, but one more blow and you'd have been arranging his funeral."

"Is he going to be okay?" Kate asked.

"Eventually." He looked past them to where someone had attracted his attention. "Sorry, I have to go. More patients to see." He hurried off.

"He was right," Rick mused. "Somebody was trying to kill him."

"I'd say they were probably interrupted, otherwise they'd have succeeded."

"Does this take him off your list of suspects?"

"No." Kate nodded slightly at the uniformed officer standing outside Jackson's door. "All it means is that someone had issues with him."

"The same issues?"

"That's something we'll have to find out."

"At least we'll know where he is."

"There is that."

They started towards the exit, then Kate's cellphone rang. Slipping it from her pocket, she thumbed it open. "Beckett."

It was Lanie Parish. "Honey, the tox results finally came through."

"Tell me."

"Hold on," Rick said as he saw a nurse glare at them, then look pointedly towards the sign that said 'No Cellphones'. Rick gave her his patented Castle smile, then quickly steered Kate along the corridor, trying doors until he found one open. It appeared to be a linen closet, just enough room for the two of them if they didn't want to do anything crazy like tango. He pushed her inside and closed the door, enclosing them in comparative darkness.

"Okay, go ahead," Kate said, making sure the speakerphone was on.

"Where are you? You sound like you're in a cupboard. Are you finally getting it on with our mystery writer?"

Kate felt a blush graze her cheekbones, and was very, very glad she couldn't see much of Rick's triumphant look. "What do you have, Lanie?"

"Tox results. Finally. I had to go down there and stand over them while they finished, but … there's nothing."

"No drugs?"

"No drugs, no anaesthetics, nothing. I'm sorry, but whatever happened to that boy, he was awake."

Her eyesight adapting to the small amount of light coming from her cell, Kate could see Rick looking appalled. "He knew what was happening?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about ..." She couldn't remember the name of the medication, and glanced at Rick for help.

"Fluvoxamine," he supplied, his writer's memory pulling it out for her.

"The antidepressant?" Lanie sounded surprised. "No, nothing like that. Should there have been?"

"Yes."

"Lanie, how long does it take to work out of the system?" Rick asked.

"Two, maybe three weeks until there'd be no sign."

Kate stared at Rick. "About the length of time he was supposed to be getting better."

"You think he was under someone else's influence?" Rick suggested.

"What, you mean, hypnotised? Here, lay on this gurney while I pump the blood out of you?"

"It's possible."

"Rick's right," Lanie put in, her voice loud in that small room. "It _is_ possible, if he was already suggestible, which could be the case if he was in withdrawal. I could check his hair, give you a better estimate for when he'd stopped taking his meds, but without the body …"

"I know." Kate took a deep breath and held it, only blowing it out when she had no choice. "Okay, thanks, Lanie. If you get anything else, let me know."

"I will." The connection went dead and the small light faded.

There was a moment's silence until Kate spoke again. "You really think someone persuaded Keith to let him do this."

Rick considered, trying hard to keep his mental processes on the case in hand, and not his proximity to Kate's warm body. "In his state of mind? I think it's … yes, possible."

"Why?"

"To live forever."

"Without his girlfriend?"

"Perhaps."

"We know he was obsessed with death," she pointed out.

"Yes, but vampires aren't."

"What do you mean?"

"Kate, think about it. Vampires are all about overcoming death, not welcoming it with open arms. To live forever, to gain the immortality that allows you to transcend corruption …"

"Castle, you have to stop Googling."

"Laugh if you want, but you know what I mean. If someone told you, promised that nothing would ever hurt you again, that you could make everyone stay with you forever …" He paused. "It would be tempting, especially for someone already depressed."

"Then we're back to someone at _Polidori's_, maybe Jackson."

"Or Kazia and co."

She shook her head. "We need to speak to them."

Rick felt around for the handle, and opened the door just as her phone rang again. He closed it quietly. "Hey, I don't mind staying in here all day," he murmured as she took the call, his lips curving as he added, "I just love the company."

She ignored him. "Beckett."

"We got a hit on a couple of fingerprints on those anonymous letters," Esposito said, but he didn't sound too happy about it.

"What? What is it?"

"Forensics didn't get anything running it through AFIS, so they tried all the others, just to be thorough. They got a hit from the police database. Boss, you're not going to believe who it is."

Kate closed her eyes. "Michael Neidermann."

"'Fraid so."

"Does the Captain know?"

"I … yes. He was here when the results came through."

"Is he there now?"

"No. He left straight after."

"See if you can locate him, but I think I know where he's going."

"Neidermann's?" Rick asked softly.

Kate nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

There were raised voices from inside the house, audible from the street as soon as they got out of the car.

"Does it ever occur to you there's something wrong with this picture?" Rick asked as they once more walked up the path.

"What are you talking about?" Only a fraction of Kate's attention was on him, the rest on trying to ascertain if Neidermann was likely to be a threat, particularly as he was an ex-cop. An ex-cop probably with a licensed gun and a severe case of grief, a really blisteringly bad combination.

"Racing across town like this, backwards and forwards." He needed to talk, to keep from wondering if the world had gone mad. "Why can't the bad guys come to us for a change?"

She glanced at him, just as she put her hand on the front door. "They do sometimes," she said quietly. "And then all you can do is hope you get them before they get you."

He swallowed. "Yeah."

She pushed and the door opened, the voices becoming that much louder.

"I've got proof, Mike!" Roy Montgomery was saying.

They stepped inside, Kate's hand very close to her weapon.

"Right." Neidermann was by the fireplace, staring at the photo of Keith in better days, resplendent in his football uniform. "What kind of proof?"

"Fingerprints. On the anonymous letters to Derek Jackson."

"That creep?" He scoffed. "He should have been put down at birth."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that, Mike. I know you're grieving, I can understand how you feel, but –"

Neidermann turned on him, his eyes full of fire. "You know nothing! You haven't lost a son, have you?" His hand clenched, and he thrust it against his chest. "You have no idea of the pain, the … it's like I'm on fire, and nothing I can do will put it out! You talk about grieving … try it, see if you can be so damn understanding then."

"You wrote the letters, Mike."

"So what if I did?" Neidermann took a step forward, and Kate tensed. "He sits there and makes money out of kids, Roy. Kids! Some of them are barely old enough to be out on their own, yet he serves them with booze and says it's okay to think about death all the time. And what do we do? Nothing!" His fingers opened, closed, trying to find something to throttle, and in the end he grabbed a glass vase full of dried flowers and threw it with all his might at the wall. It shattered into razor shards, clattering off furniture.

"We've never found him breaking the law, Mike." Montgomery was talking slowly, keeping his tone low, hoping to calm his friend. "Every time someone's complained, it's been checked. We've never found him serving alcohol to minors."

"And that means he doesn't do it?"

"Of course not. But we need proof."

"I didn't. I know what he's like." His eyes skittered to the old Bible. "He should burn in hell."

"Kate." Rick's voice, quiet and serious, drew her attention.

"What?"

He didn't answer, just moved the coats on the rack aside.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

There, tucked into the umbrella stand, was a baseball bat. Rick didn't touch it, knowing all too well the rules on chain of evidence.

Kate, on the other hand, pulled a latex glove from her pocket and tugged it on. Carefully, holding it a third of the way down so as not to damage any latent fingerprints or traces of DNA, she lifted it from the stand, keeping it away from the coats and contamination. "Looks like blood," she said, noting a staining on the wood, and something caught in the grain.

"Mmn." Rick shrugged. "Jackson said the man who attacked him seemed to be crying." He nodded towards the living room. "I can imagine him doing that. Knowing it was wrong, but not able to stop himself, hating himself even as he hit out."

"But Neidermann was a cop …"

"It doesn't mean they can't be overwhelmed by grief just as much as anyone else, Kate."

She nodded slowly, perhaps realising that he wasn't only talking about Neidermann, then turned from him and walked into the living room. "Sir." Kate spoke quietly, and surprisingly diffidently to Rick's ears.

Montgomery turned. "What?" His glare faltered a little as he realised who was standing in the doorway. "What is it?"

"We've just come from the hospital. Derek Jackson was admitted last night after being beaten up pretty badly. Probably with a baseball bat, the doctor said." She lifted her hand, showing him what they'd just found. "It looks like blood, and possibly hairs as well."

Montgomery turned back to Neidermann. "Mike?"

The man shook his head stubbornly. "I've got nothing to say."

Closing his eyes Montgomery let out a long, sad sigh. "Fine. Beckett, take him in."

"Don't you want to …?" Kate paused.

He tugged his jacket down a little. "No. I'm too close to this. You'll have to deal with it."

"Yes, sir." She took a second glove from her jacket and handed it to Rick, giving him barely enough time to pull it on before passing him the bat. He held it gingerly, not wanting to be accused of damaging anything vital.

As she extracted the handcuffs from her pocket, though, Montgomery said, "Don't. There's no need. Is there, Mike?"

Neidermann didn't respond, just crossed his arms securely over his chest, although Rick could see he was trembling slightly.

---

No-one said a word all the way back to the precinct, even Rick's normally ebullient personality having been subdued. In the squad room Kate handed the baseball bat to Esposito, with instructions to get it to Forensics ASAP, and set Neidermann to cool his heels for a while in the interview room.

Rick watched him through the two-way mirror, finding himself making mental notes on the man's posture, his expression, even the way there was a faint pulse in a vein across his temple. For a moment he was disgusted with himself, then, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, he looked again, this time seeing a man who had lost a child, who was barely holding it together.

What would he be like if it was him in that cold, bare room instead? If something had happened to Alexis, but he didn't know who'd done it, had no-one to blame but the whole world? The mere thought had his stomach clenching, threatening to lose control of itself as he pursued it further. Would he want to lash out, damage anyone who might have been in the least bit responsible? His mind finally skittered away from it, but not before he fingered the cell phone in his pocket, wondering if he shouldn't perhaps call her, make sure she was okay. Not for any reason. Just being a dad.

The door opened and Montgomery came up behind him, not speaking for almost a minute. Then … "I've known that man most of my adult life. Going through the Academy together, working in the same precinct … we were as close as brothers. More. Damn it, I introduced him to his wife." He glanced at Rick. "He saved my life once, did you know that?"

Rick knew he wasn't supposed to answer, and just waited.

"Yeah, it was back when we were pretty much still wet behind the ears. Me and my partner were called to a disturbance, just a regular Saturday night fight in a bar. Mike and his partner were in the area, and they came as back-up." He almost laughed. "You know how these things are. Things went from bad to worse in the blink of an eye, and suddenly there were knives and …" Montgomery stopped, obviously seeing it again. "One of them got behind me, and I swear I could almost feel that blade tickling my kidneys when Mike took him out."

"A good friend."

"They should have given him a medal." Montgomery shook his head. "But I don't know that man in there."

Kate appeared in the doorway. "Sir, do you want me to wait until Forensics come up with something concrete?"

"Do you think it was him?" Montgomery asked in turn.

Kate glanced at Rick, then nodded. "Yes, sir. It's too much of a coincidence."

"I agree." There was an infinite amount of sadness in him as he went on, "Try and get him to confess. Explain that it'll go easier on him if he does. Although how any of this is going to be easy …" He shook his head and walked out.

"Ready?" Kate asked, looking at Rick.

"You know, I'm not sure I am." He'd never been scared to go into the interview room, seeing it as a challenge, an adventure, like watching a TV show really close up. But now …

Kate studied him, seeing the indecision in him, and her heart melted, just a little. She didn't have a daughter, or a child of any kind, let alone one near the age of the dead boy, but she could imagine what was going through his head. Even someone as purportedly shallow as him.

"You're staying outside anyway," she said firmly, throwing him a lifeline. "Neidermann's an ex-cop. This isn't going to be easy in the first place, and he's won't be wanting to talk in front of strangers. I'll take Ryan."

The relief hit him like a wave of cold water, and he smiled, just a little. Not a smirk, or one of his patented 'come to bed' grins, but something real. "Thanks, Kate," he said softly.

"Anything to get you out from under my feet for a while," she responded, but the look in her eyes said something different. Then it was gone, and she was back to her professional self, walking into the squad room and calling for Ryan.

---

Kate was right – it wasn't easy. Not in any way, shape or form.

Michael Neidermann denied attacking Derek Jackson, sitting back in his chair and glaring at the two detectives. Over and over again, his resolve so firm it was like talking to a rock. Back and forth, Kate and Ryan asked questions, but the answer was always the same.

Rick kept expecting him to ask for a lawyer, to demand representation against their harassment, their badgering, but all Neidermann did was sit there, arms folded, saying he didn't know what they were talking about.

More than anything, though, Rick admired the detectives' skill. He knew he couldn't have gone in there, asked those questions, pushed for answers, and all the while knowing that the man had just lost his son. It didn't matter whether it was murder, or just an accident, Neidermann was grieving, and Rick could feel it, like a presence in the room, huddling in the corner and howling.

"You can make this easier on yourself," Kate was saying. "We both know what's going to happen when the report comes back. Your fingerprints on the bat, Jackson's blood … and there won't be time for deals."

"I didn't touch him," Neidermann insisted. "But I wish I could shake the hand of the man that did."

Kate changed tack. "Why did you send the letters?"

Anger flared across the other man's features, leaving two red marks high on his cheeks, and he unfolded his arms, putting his palms flat on the table, as if about to lever himself to his feet. "You saw that place, didn't you?"

Kate nodded. "I've been there."

"He makes it out to be a game, just something to pass the time, but …" He slammed his lips together.

"But what?" Ryan prompted.

His glare should have caused the air between them to burst into flames, and for a moment Kate wasn't sure if he wasn't going to spontaneously combust, but the words finally spilled from his mouth. "It's ungodly!" he said in a rush. "These children being encouraged to believe in the undead, in spilling blood to live forever … it's sacrilege!"

"Is that what you told Keith?" This time from Kate.

"Yes!" Neidermann leaned forward, his hands gripped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. "Over and over, but he didn't listen to me. Just stared at me, as if I couldn't understand. But I did. I know he was hurting, that he was grieving for Liz, but to go there, to that place …" He swallowed. "I had to try. I had to do something. Jackson wouldn't even close after Liz died, said it was nothing to do with him, but I knew. I knew it was that man and his profanity, making vampires out to be nothing more than a fashion to be worn for a few days then discarded." He shook his head. "It isn't like that. It tarnishes their souls, and they're all so young."

"So what did you do?" Ryan asked.

"I told him. At first on the phone, then he wouldn't take my calls. I tried through the official channels, but they just looked at me like I was crazy. I didn't know what else to do. Keith wouldn't listen, he …" Neidermann blinked hard, half a dozen times. "So I sent the letters. I thought it might be enough, but … he laughed. I saw him, a few weeks ago, just after I'd delivered one. He opened it out on the street, and he laughed. At me."

"So you decided to attack him."

"No."

Kate lowered her voice another notch. "Mr Neidermann … Mike … you believe in God. You believe in goodness, in the words of the Bible, yes?" She could see the book in her mind's eye, lying on the table, its cover bent back, the pages showing sign of constant use.

"Of course I do."

"Then tell the truth." Kate was looking at him from under her eyebrows, not begging, or pleading, but trying to will the man to do the right thing. "That's what it says, doesn't it? Tell the truth and shame the devil. Mike, I know you're not a bad man. I know you've been through so much in the past year, that it would weigh down on anyone. Trying to help your son, wanting him to get better, to be the boy he used to be. Then losing him. I know how you must feel."

"You can't." The words were barely spoken, almost hissed at her.

"I lost someone. I know."

Rick held his breath. She didn't talk about it, about her mother, not to anyone, so she had to be feeling it was the only way to get him to admit anything to even ghost across it now.

Kate put her hand on the table, not touching Neidermann, but her palm down, fingers relaxed, almost as if she was reaching out to him. "Tell us what happened."

For what seemed like hours and was probably no more than a minute Neidermann didn't speak, didn't move, just stared at Kate's hand. Then he shifted slightly in his seat, the sound seeming to fill the interview room. "He killed Keith." It was as admission wrung from his soul.

"No, he didn't."

"Think what you like, but I know."

Kate sat back. "No, Mike. Derek Jackson has an alibi."

For a moment Rick knew Neidermann was shaken, saw the flash of something in his eyes like uncertainty, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Alibi?" He threw the word away.

"Yes. He has witnesses for the entire evening. He didn't do it, Mike."

Repeating his name, Rick noted. Make him think you're his friend. Make him want to talk, to need to say what he wasn't saying.

Neidermann was glaring at her. "I don't believe you."

"We've got their statements."

He obviously gathered himself somewhat. "They must be lying, then."

"Mike, whatever else you think he's done, Jackson didn't kill Keith."

"Then he let it happen." Anger suddenly burned bright in him again. "Just look at him! At that place! Taking innocent young people and twisting their minds until they don't know up from down or black from white …"

Kate smiled sadly. "That's not something I can comment on."

"I can. And I did what I had to do."

That was it. Rick could feel the atmosphere in the room change, even through the mirror.

"You attacked him."

"Yes!" He almost spat the word. "And I'd do it again, if it would save just one life. Save just one family from going through what I'm …" Suddenly it was gone, all the anger, the hostility, and he broke down, covering his face with his hands as tears began to roll down his cheeks, shrunken in on himself.

Kate gazed at him, her compassion wanting to comfort him, her professionalism holding her back. "Mr Neidermann, Detective Ryan here will take your statement." She stood up, feeling little in the way of satisfaction.

As she turned to go, she thought she heard him whisper, "What have I done? God in heaven, what have I become?"

She walked out into the bull pen, and headed straight for the ladies room, resolutely not making eye contact with anyone.

"Kate?" Rick hurried after her.

"Leave it," Esposito advised.

"I can't."

The door to the rest room was closed, and in an uncharacteristically considerate gesture, Rick waited outside. It was only a minute later that Kate reappeared, obviously having splashed her face with cold water.

"You okay?" Rick asked, aching to put his arms around her, hold her so close that he could feel her heart beating, but knowing she'd never accept it.

She wiped at her mouth. "I'm fine."

"You've …" He waved at the droplets showing on her top.

Glancing down, she shrugged. "It'll dry."

"Are you sure it won't mark?"

"It's just a blouse, Castle."

"I could always buy you a new one."

She knew what he was doing, and for once was grateful. "Thanks, but no. I hate to imagine the kind I'd end up in, if I did that."

His lips curved, just a little. "Oh, I can imagine it. Pretty well."

Montgomery's voice drew them back to the present. "Is it done?" he asked from his office doorway.

"Yes, sir." Kate took a step towards him. "Ryan's taking the details now."

The older man sighed heavily. "I know it's grief, and maybe he didn't rightly know what he was doing, but …"

"A good lawyer might get him a reduced sentence," Rick put in. "Diminished responsibility."

"Yes." Montgomery nodded. "Yes. That's true."

"I can ask mine. He's a friend of mine, so I'm sure he'd … if you'd like."

Montgomery smiled, even if it was only briefly. "Thanks." He half-turned, then said, "Oh, I got a call from the Polish Embassy. You wanted to speak to Kazia and Jerzy Bazyli?"

"Yes." Kate was balanced on the balls of her feet, alert, ready again to jump back in the fray. "We think they can help with the break-in at the morgue, among other things."

"Well, you're going to have to find another way in. I spoke to an attaché, and basically there's no way they're going to allow you to interview either of them."

"But they're our only link to the crime," Kate began, but Montgomery held up a hand, stopping her.

"I know. And if you can get some more proof, tie them in somehow, I might have more of a chance. But the State Department is starting to take an interest, and I don't want to muddy the waters any more than I have to." He put his hand on Kate's shoulder. "Bring me something new and I'll see what I can do."

She exhaled. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He let go and started back to his office, then paused. Not turning, he said, "And thanks for looking after Mike."

"I had to arrest him, sir."

"I know. But you don't think he had anything to do with his son's death?"

"No, sir."

"That's … thanks." He stepped inside and closed the door, pulling the blind down and cutting himself off from everyone.

Kate turned, her eyes finding Rick's. "That's …"

"Yes."

Esposito coughed. "Um, boss, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but you've got a message from a Dr Trask."

Kate glanced at the clock, shocked to see it was already well into the afternoon. "What did he say?"

Esposito checked his notes. "He's spoken to his brother, but they can't find Peter."

"You mean he's gone missing?"

"He's supposed to be at his part-time job, but they haven't seen him for two days. They thought he was home with the 'flu."

"Is he?"

"No."

She put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes, her head dropping slightly. "Just once I'd like to catch a break," she breathed. After a moment she looked up. "Get the details and put out a BOLO on Peter Trask."

"What level?"

"Just a person of interest." She quickly added, "We just need to talk to him."

"Will do." He picked up his phone.

Kate walked to her desk, opening the bottom drawer, then slamming it shut just as hard. "Shit."

Rick perched on the edge of the table, dipping his head to try and look into her face. "We'll find some other way."

She glared at him. "Oh? Kazia's the only one we can even begin to identify. And I'm pushing it looking for Peter Trask."

"Then we go talk to her."

"We can't. You just heard the Captain. We can't go anywhere near the Bazylis. What the hell are you doing?" He'd slid from the desk and taken hold of her arm, pulling pulled her towards the corridor.

"Shush for a second, will you?"

"Castle –"

Rick looked around, wanting to make sure they weren't overheard, but there were too many people. The doors to the elevator opened and disgorged one of the lab techs, and making up his mind Rick quickly pulled Kate inside, waiting until they closed again before hitting the emergency stop button.

"Are you insane?" Kate demanded to know.

"It works for Gibbs," Rick explained, ignoring her look of confusion. "Just listen to me a second. Maybe you can't officially talk to the Bazylis, but I can. I've got an 'in', remember?"

"What the hell are you …" Realisation struck. "You mean Alexis?"

Rick nodded. "Alexis can ring Kazia up, make a study date. And when she turns up, we'll be there."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not using your daughter like that."

"Look, I don't like the idea either, but if there's no other way …"

"What if she says no?"

"Then we'll … I don't know, camp outside the embassy."

"You do realise this would be totally unofficial? That anything the girl said would be off the record?"

"Won't it be anyway? All she'd have to do is claim diplomatic immunity and nothing she admitted to would be allowable in court." He moved closer. "Kate, you want to find out what happened. So do I. You want to find Keith's body. So do I. You want to arrest the murderer. So do … well, okay, that part I'll probably leave to you. But the point is we're at an impasse. If Alexis says no, then we'll do something else. What, I have no idea. But at least we'll have tried."

"You know there's no guarantee the girl won't just turn and run when she sees us? And we won't be able to stop her?"

Rick grinned, knowing she'd given in. "Let's just try it and see, eh, Katie?"

"Fine." She thumped the emergency stop button again, feeling the elevator start to move again. "And don't call me Katie."


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't know." Alexis couldn't have sounded more uncertain over Rick's cellphone.

Rick and Kate were sitting in her car, away from anyone who might tell them they couldn't do what they were planning. Hell, Kate was considering saying they couldn't, even as she listened to him talking to his daughter.

"Honey, if you're not happy about doing it, fine. It's just … we need to see Kazia, talk to her, and her Embassy is saying no." Rick glanced at Kate, who wouldn't look at him, just sat in the driving seat, ostensibly watching the passersby.

"What about?" she asked, then went on before he could answer, "Keith."

"Yes."

"Do you think she was involved? I mean, Kazia's not the brightest in the school, but I don't think she'd hurt anyone."

Rick pondered, for maybe a microsecond, whether to tell his daughter the truth or not, then went with his gut. "We think her and her brother stole Keith's body from the morgue."

Now Kate whipped her head around and glared at him. He shrugged his shoulders in his '_she's my daughter, what am I supposed to do'_ gesture.

"Dad …"

"She's not going to be arrested, if that's what you're worried about," he went on quickly. "She comes under her parents' catchall of Diplomatic Immunity."

"You don't think she killed him?"

He avoided the question. "We just need to talk to her."

There was a long pause, and he could imagine Alexis biting her lip as she considered. "She wasn't at school today," she said slowly.

"Gives you a perfect excuse, then. To call, find out if she's okay."

"I suppose." She still didn't sound convinced.

With a flash of red hot guilt, and the fervent wish that the thought hadn't ever crossed his mind, Rick said, "It's okay, sweetheart. Don't worry. We'll find another way."

"What about Keith?"

"He'll … I suppose he'll turn up." He tried to make it sound like a joke. It didn't work. Kate raised her eyebrows at him, but didn't comment.

"And he might not." Alexis sighed, audible even over the cell. "I'll call her. Tell her I have some notes from the classes I can give her, so she doesn't fall behind. I'll ring you back." She hung up abruptly.

Rick closed his phone down slowly. "Okay, now I feel bad."

"So you should." Kate almost tsk'd but stopped herself in time. That would be going too far.

"She could have said no."

"She's your daughter. What little girl wants to say no to her Daddy?" She stopped, replayed the words. "Okay, that didn't come out quite right, but you know what I mean."

His lips twitched. "She says no to me a lot. And that didn't come out quite right, either. I meant over things she thinks I shouldn't do."

"Like borrow police horses."

"A horse. One. Singular." He now smiled more fully. "What can I say? I have a frivolous nature."

"I think that's probably the nicest way of putting it."

"And I'm sure you could come up with a lot more, in graphic detail."

"I'm sure I could." Kate shook her head. "I just don't like using Alexis this way. And not just because it doesn't follow procedure."

"Procedure isn't going to get us in to see Kazia, is it?"

"It should. That's what police work is about, following the rules and making the arrest stick."

"As far as I can see, that just isn't going to happen, not with Kazia and her brother. But at least _I_ have an alternative."

She glared at him. "This isn't a competition, Castle."

"Of course it is." Seeing her about to protest, he went on quickly, "Us against them. The good guys versus the bad guys. And we win."

"Not always."

"Mostly."

"Okay. Mostly. I'll admit we've got a pretty good clean-up rate."

"The bad guys go to jail and we go have a coffee." He settled back into the seat, waiting for the phone in his hand to ring.

"But that wasn't what I meant."

He raised an eyebrow as he half-turned to look at her. "Then what?"

"You and me. We're not in competition."

His face had an odd, almost wistful, expression. "Aren't we?"

"No. So you don't always have to try this one-upmanship with me."

"One-up-_woman_ship. Wouldn't want to be labelled sexist."

"And don't do that."

"Kate, I'm not quite sure –"

"You go and do things without telling me. Whether it's … following me into a building when you've been told to stay in the car, or talking to an international jewel thief because you interviewed him for one of your books, you think it's okay to go ahead and let me know afterwards. Well, it isn't."

His mind flashed guiltily to the file sitting on his desk at home, but he pushed it away. Not the right time for that. "I know. And I'm sorry," he said instead, but for a moment wasn't sure what he was apologising for.

She stared at him. "You are?"

"Yes. Sorry that it upsets you. That I upset you."

"You didn't –"

"But sometimes I can go and get something out of a jewel thief because of who I am. For exactly the reason that I'm Richard Castle, best-selling author. And because they won't talk to you." He paused. "Besides, sometimes it's the only way I can get a reaction out of you." He was back to being immature, and he grinned widely to prove it.

"Why would that matter to you?"

"Because I like you."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."

"And you like me." He smirked, just a little. "I've seen the looks you give me. When you think I'm otherwise engaged."

"I don't like you. I … tolerate you."

"Well, you know what they say, tolerate today, love tomorrow."

"They don't say that!"

"I just did." He loved it when her eyes flashed like that. "Besides, I'm not letting you know afterwards. You're in it, with me, right from the start."

"Believe me, that doesn't make me feel better."

"I could, though. Make you feel better. Just give me a few –" The phone went in his hand, saving some portion of his anatomy from being poked, prodded or tweaked, knowing Kate. "Hi, honey."

Alexis spoke quietly. "The diner round the corner from the school. She'll be there in half an hour."

From her clipped tone, Rick knew he'd pushed things, maybe too far, and it set up an ache in the area he'd always considered as his heart. "Half an hour. That's great."

"Oh, and I remembered who the other girl was, the one who goes out with Peter Trask. Her name's Rhiannon Docherty."

"Thanks, kitten."

"Don't. I'm not happy about this, Dad. I'm only doing it because of Keith, because I can't stand the idea of him ... lying somewhere."

"I know. And I'm sorry I had to ask."

"Yes." She disconnected.

He stared at the phone for a moment before sliding it back in his pocket.

"She'll forgive you," Kate said, wondering why she felt the need to console him as she pulled the car out into the traffic.

"Not sure I'm going to forgive myself," he admitted sadly.

---

The diner was of the traditional variety, used by a lot of the kids from Alexis' school once lessons had finished, grabbing a cold drink before heading off for home and homework. A polished chrome counter ran down most of the length, while the tables were covered in bright red and white plastic, blending in perfectly with the red seats.

They weren't difficult to spot, sitting opposite each other in the far corner, their heads dropped as they apparently studied textbooks. Wearing the ubiquitous jeans and t-shirts, the boy's had a picture of a heavy metal rock band currently popular emblazoned across his skinny chest, while Kazia had her back to the doorway, her long blonde hair caught in a ponytail.

Rick half-turned as they stepped inside. "There they are."

Kate nodded. "Now we play this easy."

"Hey, I'm just following your lead."

"If only that were true."

They made their way down the diner, sliding into the outer seats, Kate next to the girl, Rick the other side, keeping Kazia and her brother from leaving.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jerzy complained, his accent slightly more pronounced than his sister. "This table is taken." He winced as Kazia apparently kicked him.

"_One sa policyjni!_" she hissed.

"That's right," Kate agreed, sliding her badge onto the table top. "Cops."

"You speak Polish?" Jerzy asked, surprised.

"Not really. But most cops know what _police_ sounds like in other languages."

"And we don't talk to _cops_." Kazia let the word fall in a sneer and deliberately turned away.

"I remember you, from _Polidori's_," the boy said, nevertheless, tension making his voice crack a little as if he'd only just got used to puberty. "You were talking about Keith."

He winced again, and Rick was pretty sure he was going to end up with bruises all over his calves.

"About how he's dead," Kate added.

The twins glanced at each other, and Rick had to try not to smile. They'd never make spies, either of them.

"Is he?" Kazia asked. "You didn't say."

"Mmn." Kate studied them. "You don't seem very surprised. Or particularly upset."

"Oh, I am."

"I mean, for someone who was apparently in love with him." If looks could kill, Kate knew she'd be the centre of a charnel house several miles across. "You haven't even asked how."

Kazia's chin went up. "How?"

"Someone drained his blood. All of it." Kate shook her head. "And then someone stole his body from the morgue."

"Stole it."

"Yes. You wouldn't believe the amount of paperwork that creates. And too much paperwork makes me cranky." She looked at Rick. "Isn't that true?"

"It is," he agreed, playing his part. "Very cranky. So cranky sometimes she threatens to shoot me."

"But that's not just over paperwork."

Neither of the Bazylis were taken in.

"And you think this has something to do with us ... how, exactly?" Jerzy asked.

"You were Keith's friends," Rick said, looking from one to the other. "You must want to know what happened to him."

"Of course."

Kazia sent her brother another glare, then turned to Rick. "You're Alexis' father, aren't you?" she said, staring at him as if maybe she could read his thoughts from the back of his skull. "The novelist."

"Rick Castle." He smiled. "Nice to meet you properly."

"So this was all … what, a set-up? She arranged this?"

"Because I asked. She's worried about you."

Kazia scoffed. "I don't think so. Have you come to arrest us?"

"No. Just to talk," Kate said gently.

"You know _you_ could be arrested," Kazia pointed out. "Just for talking to _us_."

"Why?"

"Because we said no. They asked, at the Embassy, and we said no."

"Kazia, as far as your Embassy is concerned, we just came in for a coffee," Kate said, smiling slightly. "And you two are here. Coincidence."

The girl gave a very unladylike grunt. "Yes. Such a coincidence."

"Let them talk," Jerzy said, apparently the more sensible of the two. "What can it hurt?"

"_One poznaja._"

"_One nie poznaja wszystek._"

"_Zamykany_."

Kate and Rick exchanged a look. They might not know what the siblings were saying to each other, but from the hostility between them it probably wasn't complimentary.

"Our parents have Diplomatic Immunity," Jerzy said firmly. "You _can't_ arrest us."

"Why would we want to do that?" Kate leaned her elbows on the table. "Did you steal something?"

"_Idiota._" From the yelp Jerzy gave, Kazia had also kicked her brother again.

"That one I got," Rick said.

"Where's Keith's body?" Kate asked.

The girl shook her head firmly. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Why should we know?"

"You were clever, keeping your faces away from the cameras," Rick said. "Well, most of them."

"What?" Kazia now looked afraid, and she exchanged a worried glance with her brother.

"Yes. You missed one. As clear as day."

"It was night."

"High sensitivity." He knew Kate wouldn't mind him exaggerating, not this time. Considering not a word of this was going to turn up as evidence in court.

"And how did you know it was night?" Kate asked in turn.

"You said."

"No. I didn't." She leaned forward again. "Kazia, we know you took Keith's body. We just need to know where he is now."

Rick gazed at her. "He's not coming back, you do know that?" He kept his voice soft, talking to her like he talked to Alexis when she was little, when she was scared there were monsters under the bed. "Whatever you did, wherever you put him, he's not going to rise again. He's dead, Kazia."

Her eyes flashed, and she spat, "_Przekrecaja was_."

Rick glanced at Kate. "Did she just swear at me?"

"I think she did." Kate put her hand on the girl's arm, feeling the bones under the frail flesh, establishing a connection. "His father is grieving. How do you think he feels not only knowing his son is dead, but that his body has been violated?"

"He hasn't been violated!" Kazia insisted, but the fire that had burned a few moments ago was dying back. "He's going to live again. He has to." Tears slid down her cheeks.

"What the pathologist had to do to him ... he can't come back."

She seemed to fold in on herself. "Not true. It's not true."

Jerzy reached over the table but he couldn't get close enough. He looked at Rick. "Please?" he pleaded. "My sister?"

Rick slid out from the seat, Kate following, so that Jerzy could move in next to Kazia. He put his arms around her. "Shh. _To jest w porzadku. Wszystek bedzie jest w porzadku_."

"_To bedzie nie. To nigby bedzie jest znowu._ " She sat with her head against her brother's chest, muttering under her breath, only one word in a dozen in English and making sense. "Wrong place," they heard, then she started to shiver as if she was cold. "All wrong."

"Jerzy," Kate prompted. "Where's Keith?"

"We weren't doing anything wrong," he insisted, looking up, his pale blue eyes filling with tears himself. "We thought ... Keith ... he wanted ..."

Kate sat down, leaving Rick standing, unsure of what to do with himself. "Go on, Jerzy. Keith wanted what?"

"To live. To live again. To be happy."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Jerzy ..."

"Nothing he didn't want!" He held onto Kazia, who was crying silently. "He decided! To live forever!"

Rick took a deep breath. This wasn't something he'd expected, not at all. Everyone was geared up to catching a murderer, someone who'd kidnapped his victim, sucked every drop of blood out of his body with … what was the phrase? Malice aforethought? And now this?

Kate, on the other hand, hadn't shown more than a flicker of an eyelash in surprise. "What happened?" she asked.

Jerzy glanced at his sister, but she didn't move. "He ... Keith found the place. The warehouse. He said it was special. A special ... he used a word, I don't remember. But he wanted it to happen there."

"You killed him?"

"Not kill. We didn't kill!" the young man said strongly, then his voice dropped away. "He wanted to live forever."

"Without Liz?"

"That's what he said."

"Tell me, Jerzy."

It came out in halting words, his command of English slipping as he explained how Keith had convinced them to help. "Peter's father ... he's a doctor. A surgeon. He operates on hearts."

"A cardiologist."

"Yes." They could see Kazia was listening to every word, but she didn't interrupt. "He has a machine, a portable heart pump that he uses in demonstrations. Peter borrowed it." A look of disgust passed across his features.

"So it was Peter's idea?"

"No! It was Keith. All Keith. He kept saying he wanted to …" Jerzy swallowed hard. "He persuaded us."

Kate glanced at Rick, both of them remembering Elliot Trask saying Keith was more than capable of talking his way out of any trouble. Or talking someone into it.

Jerzy was still speaking. "I couldn't ... Peter put the needle in. I was supposed to but ... I was afraid. And when I saw it hurt, I thought ..." He went paler that ever, just remembering it. "It seemed to take forever but one minute Keith was talking, almost laughing, then ... he was quiet."

"We waited," Kazia said, so quietly they could hardly hear. "As long as we could. Waited for him to wake up, to show us the way. But he didn't, and it got light, and ..."

"We left him." Jerzy was crying, just another fifteen year old boy trying to deal with loss. "We didn't know what else to do."

"_To jest dobrze, moj brat,_" Kazia said, comforting him now. "It's all right."

"Where's Keith now?" Rick asked, going down onto his heels so he could look into their faces.

Jerzy pulled himself together, wiping at his cheeks with angry hands. "We left him at Rhiannon's."

"Rhiannon Docherty?"

The boy nodded. "_Tak._ We couldn't leave him in that place, with the bodies of the dead, to be put into the cold earth and wake up alone."

"He won't wake up, Jerzy," Rick said.

"I know," he whispered. "It's too late now."

Kate felt something crawl up her spine, but all she asked was, "Where does she live?"

---

They couldn't arrest Kazia or her brother, of course. What Kate and Rick had done wasn't exactly illegal, not in the strictest sense, but any information they'd gained wouldn't be admissible in any court. At least something good had come out of it, and no matter what happened to him, Michael Neidermann would have some sort of closure.

They were driving in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts, Kate behind the wheel as usual. The trouble was she could see Castle out of the corner of her eye, and although he was looking out of the window she thought she could detect a slight sense of smugness about him. "Stop it," she ordered.

"What?" Rick looked round at her in surprise.

"Just stop it."

"Katie, I would if I knew what it was I was doing. Or are you complaining because I'm breathing? Only that's something I'm not giving up, even for you."

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Two things, Castle. One, stop calling me Katie or I swear I will pull over and shoot you. And two … stop thinking 'I told you so'."

"You know what I'm thinking now?"

"Yes."

"Hmmn. I have to admit, I've never considered making Nikki Heat psychic. I did have Derrick encounter one once, if you recall, which you would since you've read all my books. In _Storm Warning_. But I can't say the character was one of my best."

"Just stop."

He shrugged. She didn't even want to banter, and if that was the case, things were worse than he'd imagined. Maybe another tack was involved. "As it happens, I wasn't thinking 'I told you so'. If anything, I was wondering what made them go along with Keith over this. They must know they committed murder."

"Manslaughter. If it ever came to trial." She glanced at him. "Diminished responsibility, like Michael Neidermann." She exhaled heavily. "Anyway, they didn't think it was murder. Keith told them he wanted to live forever."

"You believe that?"

"That he told them?"

"No. That he wanted to live forever."

They'd pulled up at a red light, and Kate took the opportunity to half-turn in her seat and look at him. "What's that brain of yours suggesting?"

"Kate, look at it. He loses someone, loses them violently, a girl he wanted so badly that he didn't try and stop her going to _Polidori's_, that when she died he joined himself, just to be closer to her. His bedroom, that shrine, the roses … what does it say to you?"

"Obsession."

"Love. The desperate love of a teenager."

"This isn't Romeo and Juliet."

"No? You think Shakespeare wasn't writing from real life?"

The light changed and they moved off again. "All right. So he was in love. Not everyone decides to become a vampire just because they lost someone they loved."

"And maybe he didn't, either."

"Castle, we have a body. Okay, _had_ a body, but we're going to get it back. This wasn't some cry for help."

"Oh, I agree. I think he meant it. With every last drop of his own blood."

Kate concentrated on taking a tight right corner, then spoke slowly. "You think this was suicide."

"What do they call it when someone makes a policeman shoot them? Suicide by cop? Maybe this was suicide by vampire wannabes."

"That's …"

"Bizarre? Oh, I'd agree with you there. But think about it. His father said he was getting better. Trask said the same thing, that he seemed to be getting over Liz's death. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was happy because he'd made the decision to kill himself."

She wasn't ready to shoot him down in flames, not yet. "Then why all this charade? The vampires, the blood … why not take all those anti-depressants he'd been hoarding? I should think three weeks worth would be enough."

"Because there are such things as stomach pumps, Katie."

She was so engrossed in what he had suggested that she didn't notice what he'd called her. "You realise there's no way we're going to know for sure."

"I know." Rick slumped back a little in the seat. "But you tell me the pieces don't fit."

"I hate to say it, but maybe they do." She turned the engine off.

"We're here?" He sounded almost surprised.

"We are." Opening the door she climbed out, feeling the early evening sun warm on her skin as she looked at the large building, immaculate grass lawns and well-tended bushes in front, the land dipping away fairly dramatically behind.

Rick quickly followed, reading aloud the sign hanging on the wooden frame. "_Docherty's Funeral Parlour. Open when you need us._" He shrugged. "It almost sounds welcoming, doesn't it? You know, come on in, pull up a chair, we'll bury you and you won't even notice the difference."

"It's for dead people, Castle."

"No it's not," he disagreed. "It's for the ones that are left. The dead are dead. They don't care if you put them in the ground in a solid gold coffin or toss them out with the trash."

"I'll remember you said that one day."

"When I'm gone, I'm gone," Rick continued as they headed for the double doors, panels of stained glass inset in the top of each. "They can have whatever parts of me that might be useful to someone else, but the part that's really me, the bit that looks out through my eyes? That's somewhere else."

"Heaven?"

"I'm not sure I've made my mind up about that yet." He dropped his voice as they walked inside. "I'm planning on taking a very, very long time before I have to decide."

A young man in his mid-twenties dressed a conservative but expensive black suit appeared from a doorway, the coloured light from the glass windows sending a kaleidoscope across his face before they realised the red hair was real, and brighter than anything they'd seen. Even Alexis' hair seemed pale in comparison.

"Good afternoon," he said quietly, his hands clasped in front of him. "My name is Patrick Docherty. Are you here to see a loved one in our chapel, or perhaps you have family arrangements to make?"

Kate fished her badge out of her pocket. "We're here on business."

His demeanour changed, his back straightening. He smiled. "I hope we haven't done anything wrong."

"That depends. Are you related to Rhiannon Docherty?"

"She's my little sister." The smile faded. "Nothing's happened to her, has it?"

"Is she at home?"

"No. At least, I haven't seen her today." Anxiety warred with annoyance. "What's she done now?"

"Do you have a storeroom? One that isn't used?"

"Well, there is …" He stopped. "What's this about?"

Kate hated answering a question with a question, but that was often the nature of police work. "Where's your father? Is there someone in charge we can speak to?"

He shrugged eloquently. "That would be me. My parents are at a funeral convention in Atlanta. Looking at all the new biodegradable coffins on the market, that sort of thing. They won't be home for another couple of days."

"And this storeroom. Where is it?"

"I didn't say there was one." Patrick Docherty wasn't being taken in. "Do you have a warrant?"

"Do I need one?" Kate countered.

"Maybe. If you don't tell me what this is about."

"Your sister knows a young man called Keith Neidermann."

Patrick's face clouded. "Yes. She did. He's dead." Then his eyes widened. "You don't think she had anything to do with it, do you? Rhee wouldn't. She couldn't."

"Patrick, we just need to see the storeroom," Rick said encouragingly, smiling faintly.

The young man looked unsure, then obviously came to a decision. "It's down here." He led the way into the shadows of a corridor, then to a doorway at the back. "This is the oldest part of the building. We don't use it anymore," he explained, taking them down a short flight of steps that could have been better dusted. "There's access from an alley behind, and I keep telling my dad he should convert it into a receiving area, rather than bring the deceased in through the front, but he won't hear of it."

"He believes people shouldn't be afraid of death?" Kate asked.

"I think it's more a case of he doesn't want to spend the money." He blushed as red as his hair. "But I didn't say that."

"And we didn't hear," Rick assured him.

They stopped outside a heavy metal door, and Patrick rattled the key fob, finding the right one. Finally he slotted it home, turned it. The door swung open silently. "We keep it oiled," he explained. "Although I can't help thinking, down here? It should squeal."

Rick grinned. "I agree. More … authentic."

"You stay out here," Kate said to Patrick, opening her jacket and pulling her gun. She glanced at Rick. "I'd tell you too, but you wouldn't listen."

"Of course not. Is that necessary?" Rick whispered, looking at the weapon seeming so at home in his partner's hands. "He's not likely to jump up and attack us."

"If he's here. But someone else might be around."

"Who are you talking about?" Patrick asked, but nobody answered as they went quietly inside.

There was no-one else. At least no-one alive. Kate lowered her gun, staring at the tableau laid out in front of her.

"Shit," Patrick said, having ignored Kate's order not to come in.

"Seconded," Rick breathed.

The room was exactly as Patrick had described it, just a store room, with metal shelving on two walls, and a large double exit padlocked from the inside. Just a store room. Except …

A table had been set up dead centre, covered with purple satin, a pillow of the same fabric at one end. A display of perfect white lilies reached up in supplication in a vase just beyond, while light was provided by four tall, heavy sconces, one at each corner, the flames of the thick cream candles moving faintly in the breeze from the open doorway. Wax dripped audibly onto the floor.

It was morbid, it was macabre, but it was also entirely in keeping.

"I'd better call it in," Kate muttered, her hand already reaching for her cell as she gazed on the last mortal remains of Keith Neidermann.


	9. Chapter 9

Lanie was waiting for them personally at the morgue as the coroner's men delivered Keith's body.

"Is this it?" the ME asked. "He's not going to get up and walk out of here again?"

"He didn't walk out last time," Kate pointed out.

"Could've fooled me." Lanie unzipped the body bag, looking at Keith's peaceful face. "Welcome home," she said softly, then glanced back up at Kate. "You still want me to do those tests?"

"No," Kate said. "I don't think so. Save the city some cash."

"You know who killed him?"

"In a way." Kate explained briefly, not mentioning Alexis' part in the proceedings, for which she could see Rick was grateful.

"So what happens to them now?" Lanie asked. "It's not like you can arrest them."

"Not the Bazylis, no. But we can take Peter Trask and Rhiannon Docherty into custody when we find them. They're eighteen, both of them, and that makes them culpable."

"Of what? Being young and stupid?"

"Manslaughter at the very least. Maybe assisted suicide."

"But you can't prove that."

"I know." Kate glanced down at Keith. "But at least you should be able to release the body now."

"What about the funeral? His father isn't exactly in a position to make arrangements. Is there any other family?"

Kate shook her head. "None that we can find."

"I'll do it," Rick said unexpectedly.

Both women turned to look at him, but it was Kate who spoke. "You will?"

"Sure. It's the least I can do. But not through Docherty's."

"Not even because they're open when we need them?" Kate asked, deadpan.

"Not even then."

"Just so long as you don't put him out with the trash."

Rick looked at her, shaking his head and tutting under his breath. "That's only for me, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie."

He smiled slightly. "But I'll make arrangements if there's nobody else."

---

As it happened he didn't have to.

"Thanks, but I'll sort it out," Captain Roy Montgomery said as soon as they arrived back at the precinct. "He was my godson." He managed a smile. "But thanks for offering." He rolled his shoulders under his jacket as if they were tight, pinched. "I'd better go tell Mike we found Keith, ask what he wants me to do. Not that it's the only thing I have to talk to him about."

"Sir?" Kate raised her eyebrows.

"Ask Ryan," Montgomery advised, walking out.

Kevin Ryan was waiting by her desk. "Boss, the team searching the Neidermann house came up with something."

"You showed it to the Captain?"

"There didn't seem to be any point not to." He held out an evidence bag, a single sheet of paper inside.

It was handwritten, just a page torn carefully from a yellow legal pad, and the writing looked awfully familiar.

"Keith?" Rick asked.

Kate nodded, taking the bag. She could see the contents clearly through the thin plastic. "It's a letter, to his father." She glanced at Ryan. "Where was it?"

"Inside the Bible."

"Figures."

Rick perched on the desk. "Read it."

She sat down slowly, trying to decipher the spidery handwriting, her eyebrows drawn together. "It's dated a week ago."

"After he'd stopped taking the antidepressants," Rick said softly.

Kate nodded and began to read. "'_Dear Dad, I know when you find this it's going to be a shock. I wish I could do something to ..._'" She paused, tried to spell the word out, then went on, "'_... to alleviate the pain you're going to be feeling, but I don't think I can. Just think of it that I'm in a better place. You know I would never do this otherwise, but without Liz, I have nothing. She was my life, Dad. My ..._'" She stopped, swallowed.

Rick put his hand on her shoulder, knowing she was thinking about her own parents, about how her father couldn't cope with her mother's death, how he ... No. Not his place to be thinking about that. Not right now. "Do you need a drink? Some water?" he asked.

She coughed, as if clearing her throat. "No. I'm fine. It's just this damn handwriting."

"Sure."

She didn't care if he didn't believe her, but was oddly comforted at his pretence. She blinked hard and continued with the letter. "_'My life. My friends are going to help, but they don't know it won't end the way I said. I had to do it this way, otherwise ... well, it's a sin, isn't it? Even if it's a release too. And I'm not inclined to hang around in Purgatory for a few hundred years. Try and understand, and know that I love you. But I love Liz more. Differently. And like this, we can be together forever. She's waiting for me, I can feel it, and we'll never grow old, never have to leave each other._'"

She glanced up at Rick, who nodded briefly. Dropping her head again, there were only a couple more lines. "'_I'm sorry I wasn't the son you wanted, that you needed me to be, but that was my fault, not yours. None of this is your fault._'" Kate licked her lips. "'_Forgive me, Dad. But it's for the best. Love, Keith._'" She stopped speaking, just staring at the letter.

"There's not one spelling mistake or correction," Rick pointed out quietly.

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

"He would have written this maybe half a dozen times, perhaps more. Getting it just right." Rick could see it all too clearly in his mind's eye, playing out in front of him like on a movie screen, the screwed up balls of yellow paper littering that black room, probably burned after he was finally satisfied.

"There's no other prints on it apart from Keith's and his father," Ryan added.

"There wouldn't be."

"You were right," Kate said, putting the letter onto the desk. "It was suicide."

Rick nodded slowly. "We both were. I wish we weren't, but ..." He exhaled slowly through pursed lips.

Kate's fingers caressed the edge of the evidence bag. "What he planned was wrong, but this, to persuade those kids to kill him ... it's worse."

"They thought he was going to rise again."

She looked up at him sharply. "He didn't have to get them involved. He had all those ... what was the name?"

"Fluvoxamine."

She gave a curt nod, acknowledging but not forgiving the way she could never remember what they were called. "He didn't need to incite those children to murder."

"Like I said, he might have been brought back from the tablets, if someone found him in time. Besides, he was right. Suicide is still a sin, Kate. In the eyes of the church, at least. And probably his father's, too."

She remembered the Bible, its well-thumbed pages, the very place Michael Neidermann had kept the letter. "So he let everyone else believe he'd been murdered."

"He was thinking of his immortal soul."

"That's insane."

"Stranger things have happened. And Keith wasn't in the strongest frame of mind anyway."

She glared at him. "You sound like you approve."

"No. Not approve. Understand, maybe. But never approve."

"What he did was wrong."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that point." He shrugged. "Maybe he thought it would be easier for everyone like this. Stop them blaming themselves."

"It doesn't."

He wondered what she was thinking about, whether it was just her family history, or something more. Not that he was willing to wager life and limb on inquiring further. Not yet, anyway.

"When do you suppose his father found the letter?" Ryan asked.

Kate shrugged. "It could have been any time after it was written."

"No," Rick said firmly. "If it had come to light sooner, there's no way Neidermann would have let Keith out of his sight, let alone ... Any father would have seen his son locked up before that happened."

Kate nodded. "So you're thinking ... when?"

"Just before Montgomery got there. The journal was just under the mattress, right?"

"You saw me find it."

"I bet it was inside. That Keith knew his father read his diary on a regular basis, probably ever since he started to see Trask. That's why there was nothing about the suicide attempt. Keith left it there for his Dad to find, probably on his way out of the door for the last time, when it was already too late." Again his imagination supplied the pictures, the young man sliding the letter home before tucking the black journal under the mattress, perhaps even smiling as he did so. "Neidermann might have been wondering why Keith hadn't come home the night before, had gone to his room to check ..."

"But he was already dead." She glanced at him. "It pretty much confirms our view of things, doesn't it?"

"Kate, I could write you a whole novel on who might have wanted to persuade him he should die, coming up with motives, means, opportunities. But I'm not going to. I think an unhappy, inclined to be morbid young man lost the girl he loved more than anything, and decided this was the only way out. Dress it up how you like, but he killed himself."

"I agree." Kate handed the letter back to Ryan. "But one way or the other, Neidermann knew it wasn't murder, and he didn't tell us."

Rick shook his head. "He was grief-stricken."

"He withheld evidence. He was a cop and he didn't have the guts to hand over the one piece of evidence that might have helped." She stood up and would have walked away, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

"How, Kate? How would it have helped? We already figured out what happened without it."

She tugged her arm free from his heat. "He still beat up Derek Jackson because he said he thought the man was responsible."

"Grief. And he probably did blame Jackson, at least in his fragile mental state." He glanced away from her, towards the murder wall, the photos still looking at him accusingly. "I don't want to consider what I'd do if Alexis ... if anything happened to her, but I have been. I can't help it. And I don't know. I'd want to hold someone accountable for it. Anyone but me." His eyes came back to Kate. "And Neidermann found the scapegoat at _Polidori's_." He went to touch her again, but dropped his hand before he could. "Grief, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie." But it was automatic, words said because her mind was elsewhere. She still glared at him, her mouth set in a stubborn line, but after less than a minute he saw that tightness ease as she processed what he'd said, looked at it from her own point of view, and found he was, if not right, then not totally wrong either. "Fine," she said, more than a little grudgingly. "Maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt."

He smiled at her. "Good." He got to his feet. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Home."

She shook her head. "No. I've got paperwork, reports to write ..."

"Not tonight. All of that can be done tomorrow. Or better yet, delegate and get somebody else to do it." He gazed at her. "Kate, I know for a fact you got hardly any sleep last night – and I don't mean like that," he added to Ryan, whose eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "I mean, after we got finished with the morgue, and you were here early ..." He grinned. "Besides, I need a lift."

"Castle ..."

"Please?"

Kate could see Ryan nodding enthusiastically, and wondered why her team had this need to try and take care of her, when she could obviously ... oh, hell. Grabbing her car keys with a huge sigh – showing she wasn't giving in at all, that it was her idea – she walked towards the door. At the elevator she paused. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

He was at her side before she could take another breath.

---

They didn't talk much, at least at first, but Kate had obviously been thinking, because she eventually said, "I'm sorry."

He did a classic double take. "What?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"You're ... you're apologising?" His hand hit his chest. "To me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." He spoke reverently. Then he added, "To what do I owe this singular and somewhat dubious honour?"

Her lips twitched. "I ... you were right about Neidermann. I overreacted."

"No, you didn't."

"I didn't?"

"No."

"So I apologised in error? Do I get to take it back?"

"No." She was in a much better mood, he realised, so he knew he could push things a little further. "And you didn't overreact. Neidermann did know, and he should have said something. I just understood how he felt."

"Because you're a father."

"Sometimes I'm not sure if it isn't some odd fantastical College weed dream – not that I inhaled, of course," he added quickly. "But yes, I am. And I guess that's why."

She glanced at him. "Is that why you offered to arrange that lawyer?"

Rick nodded. "Snyder is a good man. He'll do what he can. Just because I don't listen to him doesn't mean he isn't the best at his job."

"Thanks."

He smiled, just a little. "Shucks, ma'am, t'weren't nothing," he said, in a faux-Western voice.

"I'm trying to be serious here."

"I know." He looked away from her. "And you're right. I just kept thinking, there but for the grace of God …"

"We all think that. Pretty much all of the time," Kate admitted. "You should make a note of that, for … her."

"For Nikki?"

"God, I hate that name."

"What's wrong with it?"

"What's right with it?"

"It fits."

"You said she was slutty."

"So?"

"And she's based on me."

"I didn't say you were slutty, Kate. Unless you wanted to be …" He cringed. "Ow!"

"Baby."

"That hurt!"

"If you hadn't chosen such a … a ridiculous name for your character, maybe I wouldn't feel inclined to cause you physical harm."

"I'll tell Alexis."

"Go ahead."

He rubbed his arm where she'd hit him. "You know, you sound like Maggie. She hates the name too."

"Then she has good taste. In characters if not in friends."

"Are you … did you just insult Maggie?"

"I was aiming for you."

"I'd say you probably got a double header there." He glanced out of the window. "Hey, stop!"

"What? Why?" But she already had her foot on the brake.

Almost before the car had come to a halt he was out, and leaned back in through the window. "Wait there."

She looked past him, at the familiar plate glass window. "Antonelli's?"

He grinned widely. "We didn't really get to enjoy the food last night. Let's try again."

"No. I have to get home."

"Kate. Humour me. It's easier. Besides, you need feeding up – you're way too skinny." Before she could formulate an answer or hit him again he'd jogged off towards the door.

---

His mother had been right – not that he was ever going to admit it, of course. Not under pain of ... well. pain. But flashing his smile and credit card had Antonelli's falling over themselves to provide him with another take-out. It didn't hurt that the maitre'D was a fan of his – and his mother, of course – nor did promising that the next time he had a celebrity party he'd use them for the catering.

He was surprised, though, to find Kate still waiting when he came back out, his arms full of brown paper bags.

"Just get in," she said, her fingers tapping a glissando on the steering wheel.

"I knew you couldn't resist my charms," he said with a roguish smile.

"Your food, Castle. All I'm after is your food."

"That's what they all say."

---

"Hi, Dad, Kate." Alexis looked up from where she was doing her chemistry homework on the kitchen counter as her father pushed the front door open with his foot, and if she was surprised to see his partner behind him, she didn't show it.

"Hi, pumpkin."

Kate waved and smiled.

Alexis raised an eyebrow at the bags. "What's going on?"

"Food," Rick said succinctly, dumping them next to her books. "Where's your grandmother?"

She quickly moved them out of the line of fire. "Out. With someone called Craig. Or possibly Greg. I'm not sure."

He put on a shocked face. "And she left you all alone?"

"Dad, I'm fifteen."

"Really?"

"Really."

He shook his head. "I could have sworn you were younger."

"No, Dad. That's you."

"True. Wounding, but true. How time flies." He busied himself getting out three plates and accompanying cutlery.

"I hope this is okay," Kate said slowly, easing herself onto one of the stools, smiling at the banter.

Alexis grinned. "Of course it is. You know you're welcome here any time."

"Hey, isn't this my house?" Rick asked. "Don't I get a say in who's welcome or not?"

"Of course," Alexis said, patting his arm. "You're the boss."

"See how she lies to me?" Rick said to Kate. "Is this the way a good and dutiful daughter should behave?"

"Should a good and dutiful father be out all hours of the night chasing bad guys?" Alexis countered.

Rick sighed. "Also true." He smiled. "Still, sometimes we get a result."

Alexis leaned her red head forward. "Keith? You found him?"

"We found him." He glanced at Kate, who shrugged slightly, letting him decide how much he wanted to tell. "He hadn't been ... messed with. In fact, he'd been treated with respect." Purple satin cushions, steadfast lilies, and thick candles dripping wax to the floor, even if it was in an unused storeroom.

"And Kazia?"

"We can't charge her," Kate put in. "Nor her brother. But we're on the lookout for Peter Trask and Rhiannon Docherty."

"But why did they take Keith in the first place?" Alexis wanted to know. "And who killed him?"

Taking a deep breath, Rick said, "He killed himself. In a manner of speaking." He went over the barest details, his daughter's eyes growing wider every second.

"How could he do that?" she asked on a breath when he'd finished.

"He was unbalanced," Kate said, putting her hand over the girl's. "What he'd gone through, with his ... with Liz ... well, it stopped him seeing straight."

"Why didn't he talk to his dad, then? Tell him how he felt?"

"Because he wasn't like you, kitten." Rick leaned forward, his elbows on the counter so he could look into her eyes. "You know that, don't you? You can come and tell me anything. Anything at all."

"I know, Dad." Alexis dropped her head. "It's just ...I don't know if I could ever love someone that much," she said quietly. "To do something like that ..."

"Alexis." He put his hand under her chin, made her look at him. "You're going to love someone. And it's going to be a grand passion, with a happy ever after attached. Okay?"

"I don't know. Maybe there isn't someone out there for me."

Rick was determined to break the aura of sadness that seemed to flow from her very pores. "What, not even Owen?" he asked, referring to the young man his daughter seemed much taken with.

Her mouth dropped open. "Dad, I'm fifteen!"

"So you keep telling me. But I want proof you're not actually twenty-six and just lying about your age."

Her lips finally curved. "Do you want me to get my birth certificate out?"

He looked at her from under his eyebrows. "They can be forged, you know. Derrick Storm had an encounter with someone who did just that."

"I know." She smiled fully. "And I told you that seemed improbable."

Rick glanced at Kate. "My greatest critic," he said, gesturing with his head towards his daughter.

Kate laughed. "Well, if we're going to eat any time soon, I'd better go wash up," she said.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is," Alexis replied, turning back up the stairs.

"Thanks." Kate followed the girl up to floor above, and along the corridor. "Alexis, can you ... can I talk to you for a minute?"

Alexis paused outside a door. "What is it?"

"I just ... I wanted to apologise. For putting you in that position."

For a long moment Alexis didn't answer, then she shook her head. "It's all right. I understand. You did what you had to do."

"But you're still angry at your dad."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm a cop. We're trained to read people."

Alexis smiled. "Am I that easy?"

"No. You're a bit like your father in that respect. I'm never quite sure what's going on under the surface with him either."

"But you'd like to find out?"

"It might make it easier to know what he's likely to do next."

Alexis laughed. "I doubt it."

"But you are still angry, aren't you?"

Alexis' good humour evaporated. "Yes. And I'm mad at myself for feeling that way." She sighed, the sound seeming to come from her bunny slippers. "It's just ... I preferred it when he was only writing about crime, not involved in it."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Not your fault. Unless you'd like to make yourself less attractive."

"Alexis, whatever you might think, I'm not after him."

"Maybe you should be." She fixed the older woman with a surprisingly adult eye. "He really likes you."

For a moment Kate wasn't sure how to respond. "Well, I like him too. I suppose."

"I know. Gran and I both know. So does Maggie."

The mention of Rick's oldest, closest friend sent an unexpected wave of jealousy through her, and Kate wondered yet again as to the cause, before stamping down on the little voice shouting at the back of her mind, _Because you like him_. "Alexis, we're colleagues. That's all."

"And if you weren't? If Dad was just a writer and you were ... well, what you are? Could there be something more?"

Kate brushed her hand up and down the young girl's arm. "We don't run in the same circles, so I doubt I'd ever have met him."

"Even being a big fan of his books?"

Kate gazed calmly at her, but the thoughts going through her mind were less than kind. _Of course she knows. Of course Castle told her. He tells her everything, it seems. And it's nothing to be ashamed of._ At least, that's what she was telling herself. "Even then." She smiled. "But we have met, and as much as sometimes I want to wring his neck, I haven't so far."

"So far."

They laughed together.

"I still feel guilty though," Alexis admitted. "About not wanting him to go out with you like he does. I mean, he's my Dad, I love him so much, but ..."

"Yes. Dads have a lot to live up to, don't they?"

"I suppose."

"I know my Dad did things, when I was young, that make me cringe just to think about."

"Oh?" Alexis opened the door to the bathroom, going inside and waiting for Kate to follow so they couldn't be overheard by other fathers listening in. "What sort of things?"

---

When they finally got back downstairs, Rick had filled the plates with a selection of Antonelli's goodies. "I was beginning to think I should send out a search party. What were you two talking about?" he asked, placing napkins and water glasses at each place.

"All your secrets," Kate said, sitting down where Alexis indicated.

"All of them?" He smiled. "Kate, you weren't up there nearly long enough." The smile turned to a wide grin. "Now, eat. I know you haven't not since breakfast."

---

"Gran is going to be so mad she missed this," Alexis said, helping herself to more vegetables.

"Serves her right for going out on the town." Rick wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Did she say what time she was likely to be back?"

"Late. Or early, depending on your definition."

"I gather she'll be arriving with the sun."

Alexis grinned, more than comfortable with most of the peccadilloes of her family. "Pretty much."

"I don't know," Rick mused, picking up his water glass. "I'm surprised I've got any reputation left, the way she carries on."

"What reputation?" Kate asked. "No, please. I'm curious. You keep asking about me, I want to know about you. What's this reputation I keep hearing about? I thought you'd lost that about the time you gatecrashed the Mayor's garden party that year with a dozen dogs which you then proceeded to let loose."

"I'd rescued them from the pound," Rick said, waving his glass at her. "I was making a statement." His gaze softened. "Ah, my rebellious youth." He chuckled, then looked at Alexis. "And I hope you have some rebellious youth stories eventually to tell your children."

"I'll try," Alexis said, adding, "And it wasn't _that_ long ago. I remember asking you if we could get to keep one of the puppies."

"I kept your grandmother. What more do you want?"

"Dad, that's not nice."

"I'm Richard Castle. Author supreme. Haven't you heard? I'm not nice."

"Of course you are." She smiled at him.

Rick stood up suddenly and looked down at Kate. "Talking of which, I've got something for you."

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Talking of what?"

He tossed his napkin onto the table. "Wait there."

"If it's something crude ..."

"As if I would."

"As if you wouldn't."

Alexis' laughter followed him into the study.

In front of him, on his desk, lay the file on Johanna Beckett. He paused, wondering whether he should give it back now, or go with his first instincts. Clark Murray was a good man, top in his field, but once he handed the photos over to him, there would be no going back.

Actually, that wasn't true. He could go back. He could return the file where he found it, ignore Murray's findings, pretend he knew absolutely nothing. Except ... except ... Another damn word like 'but'. Half the world's troubles were caused by people saying 'but' at the wrong time.

And in this case, it was 'but' Kate deserved to know the truth.

For one brief moment he'd let himself wonder how he'd feel if it was his mother, or Alexis who'd … but his mind once more skittered away before he could even finish the thought. Thinking the unthinkable, he told himself, while his stock in trade, didn't extend to his own family. It couldn't. That way madness lay, and he'd toyed with it too often in the last couple of days.

No. Quickly picking up a sheaf of galley proofs, he covered the file over and turned to his bookcase instead. Half-smiling, he reached for the one and only copy still in existence of his very first book, one that Maggie paid for to be printed, bound, and presented to him on his birthday. When he'd said to Kate that his first book was crap, he really meant it, but this one had never even been to a publishing house. In fact, if Maggie hadn't stroked his failing ego that time, he probably would never have written another word, so it was all her fault.

His smile widened. "Definitely her fault," he murmured to himself, although the fact that his protagonist was a female cop was something he was pretty sure Kate would find amusing.

He looked down at the lurid cover in the moonlight flooding through the windows, finding the gap between the buildings and clouds to leave a glow on everything. Rick smiled, wondering idly if he could have Nikki Heat bathing naked under the full moon. The smile faltered as something kicked him in the hindbrain. Words. Written down. Something about the moon.

He hurried back into the other room. "Katie, have you still got those journal pages?"

"Don't –"

He waved away her objection. "Call you Katie, yes I know. But do you still have them?"

"They're in the car. Why?"

"Get them."

"Castle –"

"Humour me." He began to clear the detritus of their meal off the table.

She stared at him but said, "Fine." Grabbing her keys she hurried outside.

"Dad, what is it?" Alexis asked, picking up a plate and holding it like a shield in front of her.

"Sweetheart, can you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Can you call Kazia?"

Immediately Alexis was on the defensive. "No. Dad, look, I really don't think –"

"I just want you to make sure she's okay."

"Why?"

"Alexis, please. I have a bad feeling, and I don't want it coming true."

---

"Is this it?"

He checked the hand-held GPS. "Yes."

"Have we got everything?"

"All here."

"Who's going first?"

"Me."

"No, look, I really think I should –"

"No. Me. Only right. He should have been mine."

"_Moja_ s_iostra_..."

"_Robi nie_!" There was a pause, where things could go either way.

"_Dobrze_."

"Then get it ready."

"Okay, Kazia."


	10. Chapter 10

"Now what's going on?" Kate demanded to know, watching Rick spread the photocopied journal sheets out across the table.

"Something Kazia said, about it not being the right place ..."

"I remember. Vaguely." She leaned forward. "So?"

"So it's a full moon." He kept sifting the pages, scanning quickly then discarding.

"And?" She shook her head. "Castle, if you don't tell me what it is you think you've found out –"

"My mind only just put it together." He pounced. "This one."

She moved closer, looking over his shoulder. "It looks pretty much like all the others."

"No." Rick laid it down, pushing the rest out of the way. "Damn it, his handwriting's worse than on the other ones."

"Let me see." She made him move over so she could get closer.

"It says something about the moon, about the right phases."

Kate nodded, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated. "'_It has to be at the time of the full moon_,'" she read carefully. "'_Otherwise they won't believe it. The phase has to be right, but there are a few days grace either side which should give me plenty of time._'" She stopped in appalled understanding. "He was deciding when to kill himself."

"When to get _them_ to kill him," Rick corrected gently. He picked up another sheet. "This is dated the next day." He read aloud. "'_I shouldn't have played with them. It wasn't fair, I know that, but it was easy. Just selecting the right words to use, and they follow. Like so many sheep. No. Not sheep. Like so many children, lost and lonely._'" Rick felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck, as if someone had walked over his grave.

"None of this made sense before," Kate realised. "Only now, knowing what he did ..."

"Hindsight is always twenty-twenty."

"I know." She took the page from him, continuing to read. "'_Whatever I did, they believe. And I've told them there are two places. I wish we could use the first, so much more melodramatic. They'd appreciate it. But there's talk around about some play being put on that night, in the shadow of the castle. Have to be the second choice. Not that it matters to me. One place is as good as any._'" She looked up. "Second choice?"

"The warehouse."

"Right." She waited. "So? You've got the full moon, first and second choices ... what's going on in that brain of yours?"

Rick was saved from answering by Alexis running back down the stairs.

"Well? Did you talk to her?" he asked his daughter.

Alexis shook her head, clutching her cellphone. "Kazia's parents are out of town. Some political event in Washington, I think. And the people I spoke to weren't very helpful, just that she and Jerzy are spending the night at a friend's."

"Did they say which friend?"

"No."

"But they're not at the Embassy."

"No." Her hands twisted on the phone. "Dad, what's going on?"

"I think Kazia's going to try again."

Kate straightened up. "You mean kill herself?"

Alexis gasped.

"No. I mean die to live forever." Rick began to pace, rubbing his hands through his hair. "I should have realised. When she was talking, about it being the wrong place, she meant the warehouse. And she didn't believe us, did she? About Keith."

"I think she knew he wasn't going to rise again."

"Because they did it in the wrong place." Rick stopped, leaned on the table, staring at the journal page. "And there _is_ another one. And the moon's still full."

Kate was beginning to get the feeling of something crawling up her spine. As much as she disapproved of intuitive leaps, preferring good honest police work backed up by evidence, she had to admit her partner's unease was catching. "Where?"

"It doesn't say."

She sat down, going through the rest of the pages herself. "There must be something."

A slim hand reached out, took a handful. "I'll help," Alexis said.

"You don't have to," Kate said.

"I want to. They're my friends."

Rick smiled at his daughter. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"You're welcome, Dad." She managed a smile back, then took the pages to the couch, sitting down and hooking her feet under her.

For five minutes there was no talking, no sound other than the rustling of paper, then Rick threw his down in disgust. "This is taking too long."

"There's a lot to go through," Kate reasoned. "And Keith wasn't exactly in a normal frame of mind when he wrote it most of it, especially once he'd stopped taking his medication. We just have to –"

"Here." Alexis interrupted, swinging her legs down and sitting forwards.

Rick was instantly at her side. "Show me."

"Keith is writing here about power nodes. I remember Kazia used to go on about them too, only she could never remember the name. She used to say they were conjunctions of psychic power lines."

"Psychic power?"

"That's what she said. That it was a point where there was such a concentration of power that anything could happen there." She looked a little shame-faced. "I didn't believe her."

"That's okay, sweetheart." Rick glanced at Kate. "But that will be it. Where she's gone."

"We just need to know a location."

Alexis held out the journal page. "There's a map."

Kate looked down the squiggling lines, encased in a long rectangle. She shook her head. "It doesn't give any names."

"It's Central Park," Rick said unexpectedly.

"What?" They both stared at him.

"That's why I took this place," he said, getting to his feet and rummaging in a drawer. He dragged out a map, opening it up and laying it on the table on top of the rest of the journal pages. "So Alexis could be close to trees." He looked up, seeing the amusement on one face and warm indulgence on the other. "Okay," he added, shrugging. "So I'm just a big softy at heart. Just look, won't you?"

They leaned forward.

"Damn," Kate breathed.

"See?" He wasn't going to crow in triumph, but it was a close thing.

"But it doesn't say where in the Park. And that's a hell of a big area to cover." Kate was already reaching for her own phone. "If we're even sure it's tonight."

"I'm sure."

"And we do know where," Alexis said.

Kate paused in the act of speed-dialling the precinct, and Rick stared at his daughter.

"Pumpkin?" he asked.

"Keith wrote about it being in the shadow of the castle, right?" When her father nodded she went on, "Up until yesterday there was a guerrilla performance of _As You Like It_ going on there."

"Monkeys?" As soon as Rick said the word, his mind told him to stop being stupid and listen.

"No. That's what they call themselves. Guerrilla Players. Totally unofficial. I heard about it at school and wanted to go, but I didn't think you'd let me."

"Where, Alexis?" Kate prompted.

"The Castle. Belvedere Castle. By the lake."

Rick grabbed his jacket. "That's it." He kissed Alexis on the cheek. "You're amazing."

"Just remember that when I ask for a raise in my allowance."

"Whatever you want, you just give me a figure." He grinned, then a thought crossed his mind. "Can you write down Kazia's cellphone number?"

She nodded, picking up a pen and scrawling it on the edge of the map. "Here." She folded it quickly and held it out to him.

"Thanks." He ran to the door, Kate already outside, car keys jangling. "I'll call, soon as I know."

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

He flashed her another grin and was gone, the door slamming behind him.

Alexis sighed, praying they would be in time. Then she headed for the kitchen, determined to wash up. Anything to keep her mind off what might be happening at that moment.

---

They were in the car, heading the few blocks to the Park.

"She's clever," Kate commented as they made agonisingly slow progress, despite the siren going.

"That she is."

"Are you sure she's yours?"

"Meredith promised."

"And you believed her?"

Rick knew she was talking to try and relieve some of the tension, something he usually did, and was grateful. Somehow he just couldn't shake the feeling that this was his fault. If he'd listened more closely, if they'd read the journal pages properly, if he hadn't insisted on going to Antonelli's, maybe they could have stopped this before a young woman's life was in the balance. He shrugged. "The DNA test was pretty positive."

Kate allowed the smile to curve her lips. "It might not be her, you know," she said after a moment as she manoeuvred around a truck.

Rick knew she wasn't talking about Alexis this time. "So it's Jerzy. Or one of the others, Peter or Rhiannon." He shook his head. "Someone else is going to die tonight if we don't end it."

"You're so sure."

"My gut instinct, okay?" he snapped, then immediately was sorry. "Kate, I ..."

"It's okay. I know." Her cellphone, sitting on the dash, began to ring. "Take it," she ordered.

Rick picked it up, activating the speaker.

"Boss?" It was Esposito, back at the precinct.

"Go ahead," Kate said.

"We tried, but Kazia Bazyli's phone is switched off, so we can't track her by GPS."

Kate exhaled heavily. "We need something to narrow it down."

"Alexis is right. It has to be the castle," Rick said. "'_In the shadow of the castle_.' That's what Keith wrote."

"That area's pretty heavily wooded," Esposito said. "You could pass right by and not see them."

"Then we do what we can," Kate affirmed, signalling and turning into Central Park. "We're taking the 79th Street Transverse, that should bring us right up behind –"

"It's closed," Rick said suddenly. "The road. They're doing some repairs."

Kate threw him an angry glare. "It didn't say so at the entrance. Are you sure?"

He pointed ahead. "Pretty positive."

There, just in the headlights, were striped barriers and looming construction equipment.

Kate pulled the car to a halt just in time. "Shit."

"Boss, Ryan and the back-up are coming to you," Esposito said quickly. "They'll be at your location in less than five minutes."

"No time," Rick said, climbing from the car. He looked around, trying to see into the darkness, to ignore the shadows where it seemed muggers and murderers must be lurking. He turned to tell Kate to switch off the headlights, but they died before he could speak. Blinking hard, making his eyes adjust as quickly as possible, he peered into the night.

Kate had got out, and was standing next to him. "Where's the moon when you need it, huh?"

Rick barely smiled, glancing up only once at the cloud cover. "Can't be too easy, Kate. Otherwise where would the fun be?" Suddenly he pointed. "There."

She strained to see, then realised she could pick out a tall turret. "Belvedere Castle," she said softly.

He nodded, then spoke once more into the phone. "Javier, my cell's on. Can you use the locator chip inside to track us?"

There was a pause while Esposito apparently conferred with the techs. "Got it."

"We're going cross country," Rick went on. "It's the only way. Use the GPS to make sure we don't get lost, okay?"

"We'll try."

"I'd be grateful. I don't fancy ending up in the middle of Turtle Pond."

A beam of light illuminated the trees in front of him, and he half-turned in surprise. Kate had a torch in her hand. She shrugged. "Be prepared," she said.

"I always knew you were a boy scout in a previous life." His teeth flashed white in the light, then he was off the path, into the woods.

"You have no idea," Kate breathed, following him quickly.

---

It was heavy going, far heavier than he'd imagined. Even with Esposito giving them instructions, he'd soon lost sight of the one and a half century old folly of Belvedere Castle under the canopy, and was relying more and more on following the beam of Kate's torch.

More than once he'd almost fallen, his mind conjuring treacherous images of the bodies he was stumbling over in the dark, lifeless and drained of blood, even though he knew it was just roots and not arms reaching up to catch at him.

Suddenly the trees thinned out, and he realised the looming bulk in front of him was the Castle itself.

"You should be on top of it," Esposito said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"We are," Kate replied, keeping the granite walls to her left as she followed them around. "Where are the paramedics?"

"Right behind you."

All at once Kate's foot slipped, and Rick reached out, grabbing hold of her at the last moment, tugging her into him.

She looked up, just able to make out his face in the ambient light from the city not that far away. "Thanks," she said, her heart beating faster than normal, her eyes fastened on his.

"You're welcome." He held her a moment longer, feeling her heat through his clothing, then reluctantly let go.

She swung the torch down, the beam catching the planes of rock from the man-made incline dropping sharply down to the water's edge. "Come on," she added, pushing all thoughts of falling and coming to an abrupt and messy end from her mind.

As he walked, Rick ran his hand along the stone blocks, taking comfort from their roughness, hewn from the bedrock. Then Kate turned the torch off. "Where?" he asked softly.

"Down there," she whispered, pointing.

A light, something soft, barely making a dent in the night, in front and below them. And a sound, the regular humming of a machine.

Hurrying as safely as they could, within a few moments they were at the top of a slope, looking down onto a scene both macabre and strangely familiar.

Kazia Bazyli lay on a purple satin throw, a pillow under her head. Light from a single candle picked up the paleness of her complexion, highlighted by the absolutely simple, absolutely white bias-cut slip of a dress, arranged artistically around her legs. She held a lily in her hands, clasped across her breasts, and her eyes were closed.

To one side, standing in a small group, were three people, only Jerzy readily recognisable by his blond hair. The hum was coming from a small piece of apparatus next to Kazia's head.

They couldn't help make a noise as they made their way down the slope, and the trio standing turned, staring up.

"Stay where you are!" Kate called. "Police!"

Peter Trask took to his heels without even a backward glance, feet pounding along a narrow path that led down towards the lake. The girl, Rhiannon Docherty, her flaming red hair almost glowing in the torchlight, screamed and was about to follow, but Kate was too quick. Taking her down, she pinned the girl to the ground, reaching quickly for her cuffs.

Jerzy Bazyli stood as if in shock, his mouth open.

Rick, on the other hand, could see nothing but Kazia. He ran forward, noting with only a tiny part of his mind that this time the pumping machine wasn't feeding into jars, but letting her life blood slip into the earth, soaking it. As he reached her his foot slid on a wet stone, and he went down onto his knees with a bone-jarring force.

He ignored the immediate ache, instead pulling the tube from Kazia's neck, his fingers suddenly slick with her blood. The pump, deprived of liquid, changed note, sucking on air instead. He tossed it away, hearing the engine die as connections were lost, then a splash as it fell into the water, but all his concentration was on Kazia. Pressing his palm against the small wound, he yelled, "Need some help here!"

"Don't," Kazia said, batting at him with her hands. "I want to live forever."

"Stop it." He felt her nails graze his face. "You'll die."

"No. Live."

"Kazia, please."

Tears were rolling into her hair, but still she fought him. Until someone put his body across hers, pinning her arms down.

"_Prosze_, Kazia," Jerzy begged. "_Nadal leza. Dla mnie._"

She stared at her brother, then wailed, the sound travelling across the lake and startling sleeping birds into raucous complaint.

"What did you say?" Rick wanted to know.

"I asked her to lie still. For me." Jerzy was crying, tears sliding off his nose to fall onto his sister's gown.

Other shouts heralded the arrival of various back-up, and all at once the place was crowded.

"Let us take care of this now," a man said, putting his gloved hands down and taking Rick's away.

Rick leaned back, seeing the comforting and reassuring uniform of a paramedic doing his job. He got shakily to his feet. "You keep her going," he said quietly. "Just don't let her die."

"We'll do our best," one of them assured him.

---

It seemed to be a long time before Kate found him, sitting on a rock, staring at the castle looming above him.

"Penny for them," she asked, settling herself tiredly next to him.

"I'd be overcharging."

"Then next time I get it for free."

He smiled. "I was just thinking it was almost appropriate. Being here. At the denouement." He rolled the last word out, giving it depth and breadth.

"You mean because it's so ... Transylvanian?"

A chuckle worked its way up his chest. "That too. But I was thinking more about me. Richard Castle. Under the castle."

"I think it's just a coincidence." She went to touch the scratches on his cheek that Kazia had delivered, but her hand fell before she made contact.

He hadn't noticed. "Probably." He looked back over to where the paramedics were still working. Jerzy had refused to leave his sister's side, and even now was as close as he could get. "What about them?" Rick asked. "What happens to them now?"

Kate followed his gaze. "Honestly? I'm not sure. They need help, Kazia more than her brother. But I can't arrest them, not without getting into hot water with the State Department."

"Then tell her family. If they care at all, they'll get her everything she needs."

"And if they don't?"

Rick shrugged. He knew what he had with his own daughter wasn't unique, that there were other loving parents out there, whether it be couples, singles, or same sex. It just seemed that sometimes they were hard to find. "No idea, Katie."

She let him get away with it, just this once. "I think this time we'll let those a lot higher up decide."

"Fine by me." He didn't mind that they were both lying, that they'd both want to make sure. But instead of teasing her on it, he glanced around at the almost mystical surroundings. "Have you ever been to London?" he asked.

Kate nodded. "Once or twice."

"To Kensington Gardens?"

"No. Can't say I have."

"I have. Somebody took me there."

"A female somebody?"

"As it happens, yes. But that's not the point." He studied the bushes and trees, hearing a water bird call mournfully across the lake behind them. "It's a bit like this really. And there's a statue of a boy, holding a pipe."

"Peter Pan."

"I thought you said you hadn't been."

"Castle, I'm not totally ignorant."

"Sorry. Then you know the story."

"Captain Hook. Tinkerbell. The lost boys," Kate murmured.

"And girls. Let's not be sexist here." He shook his head. "Contrary to popular opinion I don't want to be Peter Pan," he said quietly. "I never did. I know I can't be a kid forever. I'm not sure I ever wanted to be. I wouldn't have Alexis, for a start. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to …"

"Take that awfully big adventure?"

"Maybe."

"No. You're the least likely man I've ever met to ever go that way willingly."

"You think?"

"And miss all this?" Kate asked, her arm sweeping to include the paramedics, the whole damn thing.

He smiled finally. "No. Besides, I'm looking forward to escorting Alexis down the aisle. My mother too, if she ever decides to get married again."

"Hold your grandchildren …"

Rick laughed. "Exactly."

"Teach them to be irresponsible, just like their grandpa."

"Never thought I'd do anything else." He rubbed wearily at his face. "By the way, how did they get here so fast?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"We came the other way," Ryan explained, appearing from the gloom. "We've got Rhiannon Docherty in custody, and Peter Trask isn't going to get far."

"He's probably waiting to come back for his father's heart pump," Rick said, smiling slightly.

"What did you do with it?" Ryan wanted to know, then held up a hand. "You know, forget I asked." He looked at Kate. "Boss, can I have a word?"

"Sure. Wait here," Kate instructed Rick, joining her colleague and walking far enough away so they couldn't be over heard.

Rick just nodded, unsure he had the energy to follow her anyway. Besides, it was quite pleasant sitting on this rock, despite the fact that his mother would have chided him for using anything quite so damp for a chair. He could hear her voice now, warning him of the dangers, telling him in no uncertain terms that when he caught something he could go to someone else to put cream on it. For a few moments he entertained himself with listing all those he knew who would.

He became aware Kate was standing in front of him again.

"They think she'll be okay," she said, not bothering to hide the relief on her face.

"Thank God," Rick said fervently, releasing all the pent up tension with a huge sigh. At least something had gone right. He took out his phone to call Alexis, tell her the good news.

"I'd wash up a little before you go home, though," Kate suggested. "You're not exactly presentable at the moment."

He looked down in surprise at himself, and realised she was right. His jeans were stiff where he'd knelt in Kazia's blood, and more of the same was dried all over his hands. "Ah. Maybe you're right. But I still promised." As he went to dial, he found he could see quite clearly, and lifted his head. The sky had cleared, and a million pinpoints of light were shining down at them, the moon full and heavy on its journey across the heavens. "Um, how do we get out of here?" he asked, his brow furrowed as the thought came to him. "I didn't exactly take note of how we got in."

Kate put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. "I'd have thought it was fairly obvious, Castle."

"It might be to you, but …"

She laughed and pointed up. "It's easy. Just take the second star to the right …"

"And straight on 'til morning," he finished, grinning.


End file.
